The Pale Man
by StarKnight2.0
Summary: No longer One Shot. As the Game of thrones is played, new players appear that may shift the balance of power. Among them: a demented, pale man, a heroic and enigmatic knight and various other figures with their own abilities and agendas. What will become of Westeros and Essos?
1. Pt 1: The Pale Man

**(a/n: Hello one and all! Welcome to my first, and probably only, attempt at a Game of Thrones fic. I had this idea in my head for a while and thought to give it a shot. Probably a little out of character but I hope you enjoy it.)**

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The Pale Man

Cersei, the queen of the Seven Kingdoms and member of one of the most influential Houses in Westeros, was almost at her wits end.

The queen sat alone in her chambers, cradling a goblet of wine in her hands and did her best to try and alleviate her stress. She didn't know why she was feeling like this. The whole situation was ridiculous but it could not be helped.

For the past week, Cersei had a sick, creeping feeling in her stomach that gnawed away at her constantly. No matter what she did or where she went, the queen felt as if there was some sort of dark, unearthly shadow following her like a wolf stalking a wounded stag. Although there was a vigilant guard posted everywhere, keeping watch as they usually do, Cersei didn't feel secure.

As the day's progress and the unease ate away at her and her ability to sleep, Cersei dreamt of the day she met that filthy witch, Maggy.

Even after all these years, the queen could still remember vividly that horrid creature and her damned prophecy.

* * *

As a young girl, Cersei went to see this so called witch for herself with Melara Hetherspoon in tow. Although most of the finer details of the experience were still foggy, the queen can still see it unfold in front of her, all clear as day as she sat alone in her dimly lit chambers.

The squalid little hut in the forest and the cluttered interior swam into view. The overpowering smell of spices, mud and animals filled the air.

Maggy, known as Maggy the Frog in rumors that spread from Lannisport to Casterly Rock, was fast asleep on a cot bundled up in furs and rags. The witch awoke and demanded that they leave at once. Cersei laughed and said that her father owned the land and could have the witch's eyes gouged out if she wanted. She demanded that the witch tell her future. After a warning and another refusal, the witch grudgingly agreed.

The dirty woman pricked the Lannister girl's finger and tasted her blood. Maggy then gave Cersei her prediction, which still haunted her to this very day. The young girl asked if she would marry the prince, but the witch told her "Never, you will wed the king" and later added that while the king shall have scores of children, Cersei will only have three.

The prophecy concluded with the witch's warning that Cersei would lose all her children and that worms would consume her. The horrid, wretched woman cackled like mad. The regent shuddered at the memory. Maggy's laughter echoed through her memories and her face appeared for a split second before her eyes.

What worried her the most was what she said before Cersei and Melara departed.

As she turned to leave, Maggy grabbed the Lannister girl's wrist and looked deeply into her eyes. Her yellow eyes carried something akin to fear. The witch's face was pale as freshly fallen snow.

"Beware him, child" said Maggy, hoarsely "Beware the Pale Man, for he shall haunt your every step, your every nightmare. He shall come in the darkest night and take all that is yours".

Cersei thought nothing of those words or of her prediction. For a time she thought Maggy as nothing more than a mad woman squatting on her father's land, living off of the fears and superstitions of the commoners. With the end of the Mad King and her marriage to Robert, Cersei then realized that if the dirty woman in that hut were correct about her marriage, then maybe she would be correct about other things.

* * *

Years passed and the prophecy of Maggy the Frog slowly faded into the back of her memory, until this past week.

After a session with the small council, as Cersei was walking to her chambers, she saw a shadowy form dart past in the corner of her eye. Quickly, she spun around and caught sight of something move around a corner. When she peered around that corner, the queen saw nothing but empty corridor.

For a moment the queen thought that she might have been seeing things. But before she turned to return to her chambers, Cersei could have sworn that she caught whiff of mint and lemons and heard soft laughter.

The night prior, she awoke and could've sworn that there was an intruder in her room. Quickly, the queen managed to light a candle and soon felt foolish when she saw that the shape in the corner of the chambers was nothing more than the drawn back curtains moving gently on the breeze that came rolling in from the sea.

Before her fears could be put to rest, Cersei noticed something strange. Planted into the surface of the small table near her bed, was a gleaming new dagger. The dagger was a handsome blade, long and slender and wrapped in a soft square green cloth made of fine silk. What unsettled Cersei was that when she folded the cloth, her senses were met with the overpowering scent of lemon and mint.

Embroidered on the square of soft cloth, was a purple moon that grinned mockingly at the queen.

Robert was away for at least another month, dealing with some of his kingly duties in Storm's End. Which was all well and good for the queen. She could take care of this situation before it got out of hand.

The queen got to work that night, not bothering to wait for dawn.

The Kingsguard were promptly summoned and a search was conducted of the Maegor's Holdfast, the Red Keep and, eventually, of the rest of King's Landing.

There was no sign of the owner of the dagger and grinning moon sigil.

The mystery only deepened when even Varys, the master of whisperers, whose web spreads far and wide, for all of his spies and his secrets, was left perplexed.

"This sigil does not belong to any known house" reported the eunuch, sounding a little disappointed "Great or small, neither in Westeros or in Essos. It is unknown to me and none of my little birds have any information either." For as long as the queen has known Varys, there hadn't been a single secret or a whisper that escaped him.

It was both a surprise and unnerving to find that even the seemingly all-knowing spider was ignorant of something. The queen didn't like it.

"There has to be something!" growled Cersei, livid "Anything! I need to know if this is a legitimate threat on my life or if this is some cruel jape!"

Despite the obvious fury and displeasure that she expressed, the eunuch merely shrugged. In the end, the master of whisperers told the queen that he would inform her of anything should arise.

Both the City Watch and the Kingsguard were ordered to be more vigilant and patrols around the city and the Red Keep, the Maegor's Holdfast specifically, were increased. To emphasize the seriousness of the situation to the knights of the Kingsguard, the City Watch and other men at arms in King's Landing, the queen promised a handsome reward to those who killed any intruder baring the moon sigil, extra if said intruder was brought to her alive.

Ser Barristan Selmy, and later Jaime, assured the queen that no intruder would breach the castle, but the words of the legendary knight and her brother did little to assuage her fears.

* * *

Cersei's thoughts were pulled back to the present when there was a soft knock at the door of her chambers.

Casting a glance at the door, Cersei grunted "Enter!"

Silence replied.

She turned her head towards the door and frowned. "Enter!" said Cersei, a little louder. Again, silence met her command.

For a moment, annoyance overpowered Cersei's unsettled feelings. The queen rose from her chair and stomped to the door and threw it open to find . . . an empty, silent corridor. Cersei scowled and peered out into the empty corridor to find it empty with not a soul in sight.

The queen immediately thought of the mysterious intruder, the owner of the moon sigil but she firmly assured herself that it was impossible. The City Watch and the Kingsguard are on high alert and the Red Keep was closed up for the night. The queen's thoughts then reasoned that it was probably a jape from Jaime, maybe Tyrion or, more likely, a foolish guard, thinking he could mock the queen and get away with it.

"We'll see about that" murmured the Lannister monarch. She turned to return to her chambers but she paused.

Lying at her feet, in front of the doorway, was a single rose. The rose had a long, slender stem dotted with thorns like warts and was topped with petals of a deep shade of purple. Cersei looked about the empty corridor, as if to find the owner of the flower but, again, saw nobody.

The queen stooped down and scooped up the flower and upon closer inspection, she saw a tiny bow of fine green silk hidden underneath the flower petals. Stitched into the silk, was a tiny, grinning purple moon.

Cersei felt a mixture of dread and panic coil up within her like a viper but as the monarch tried to puzzle out how this rose reached her door, something small and warm land on her wrist. The queen looked and, to her shock, saw a drop of blood.

The drop was red as wine and felt warm on her skin. In the blink of an eye, two more drops of blood landed on her wrist and her sleeve.

The queen looked up and felt her own blood turn to ice. Smeared on the ceiling in wine red blood, was a message. Although it was partially hidden in shadow, there was enough torchlight to make out what it said: " _Ha! Ha!"_

"Guards!" cried the queen, not bothering to contain her panic and fury.

* * *

The man strolled through the cramped streets of Flea Bottom unhindered.

The man inhaled deeply and sighed with pleasure. It was always fun to take an evening stroll in King's Landing.

The sights, the sounds and all that which accompanied life in the vibrant capital were invigorating. Splendor, opulence, corruption, hatred, and depravity…all these things were like fine wine to the man and the capital was like a cask filled to the brim with it.

A few cutthroats and thieves attempted to confront him but once they saw his face, the men retreated in fear. "Such dangerous times we live in" mused the man as he strolled on, unbothered by the experience.

For the past week, the man was simply sampling it; taking little sips here and there. Soon, he will gorge himself upon the misery of this entire wretched heap of dung, including the queen.

The queen, such a horrid woman, thought the man. His initial impression was that she was such a horrible, cruel and power mad leech. Perhaps it was because of these traits that the man fell head over heels in love with her, like an oaf in one of those stupid songs that minstrels continuously screech about.

Sighing, the man threw a longing glance over his shoulder back towards the Red Keep. He was a fair distance away. The imposing castle sat perched upon a hill, glaring down tiny buildings huddled around it.

"Soon, my pretty" sighed the man "I will be seeing you again".

Even at this distance, he could see some of the guards, a cluster of Gold Cloaks, scurrying about and shouting.

The man with no name grinned and began to chuckle. His chuckle started out low and soft, then it grew louder and more out of control like wild fire. Soon the man was cackling like mad. He unbuckled the breastplate and threw off the golden cloak he wore, revealing a green and purple tunic with a grinning moon stitched on his breast.

The man continued to cackle as he sauntered off through Dragon's Gate and out of the city, passing the two Gold Cloaks he encountered earlier.

One lay sprawled out on the ground naked, and the other sat slumped over by a boulder.

The man placed the borrowed helmet on the ground beside its original owner and he dropped the rest of the stolen attire on the ground beside the dead man. "Thank you kind ser!" thanked the man, politely. He turned to the other man and bowed his head a little to the other slain man "And to you ser! Remember, be ever vigilant!"

He giggled and patted the dead man on the head.

The tall, pale man ran his fingers through his unnaturally green hair and heaved a sigh of relief.

It was so good to be free of that burdensome armor and cloak. Useful in typical combat and in war but it can be quite cumbersome.

The man strolled onward down the empty but well traveled road, leaving behind King's Landing and the two smiling, dead bodies behind, feeling satisfied that he caused enough trouble for the night.

The End?

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 **(a/n: So, what do you think? I got a few other ideas that i can use to add on to this. If i do continue this, they'll be one shots, using other Batman/Dc characters but in GoT universe. They'll be somewhat connected too. Anyway, the Pale Man title came from Batman Endgame and i thought that it was a cool, other name for the Joker. I tried to combine a little of the books with the show as well but whatever. Well, that's all. Let me know what you think. You want more? Let me know. If not... oh well!)**


	2. Pt 2: The Demon & The Dragon

**(a/n: Wow, i didn't expect such a response to this story! and i didn't think that i would be back with a new chapter so soon either but this idea kept floating around my head so i just had to do this. Thank you to all those who have faved and reviewed. Enjoy!)**

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Part 2: The Demon & The Dragon

Daenerys Targaryen was terrified. The young woman had never felt fear as she did when she married Khal Drogo.

Dany, Viserys and Magister Illyrio arrived at Khal Drogo's encampment several hours before. The marriage ceremony began at dawn and has carried on well into dusk, thus far. A great earthen ramp had been erected for the ceremony, which sat the Khal, his bride, his bloodriders and those closest to him.

Daenerys sat beside her husband to be Khal Drogo, while Ser Jorah Mormont, her brother and Magister Illyrio sat far below her.

Below Dany was a vast, writhing sea of Dothraki people, feasting, fighting, jesting and celebrating. Every one of them was dressed for the occasion in painted leather vests and horsehair leggings, gorging themselves on hot foods and drowning themselves in wine. Food was brought to them but Dany didn't touch anything. The fear within her twisted and coiled like a serpent.

Although she knew this was for Viserys' and their chance to gain an army to reclaim their birthright from the usurper, Daenerys was still afraid. The Dothraki were a strange people, with a foreign culture, a harsh and alien language and customs.

As the celebrations continued, among the wild revelry, drinking and loud japes, there appeared an odd sight.

Among the throngs of celebrating Dothraki, a tall man wrapped in a swirling emerald cloak appeared. The man gracefully moved his way through the tangle of people with ease, gliding gracefully towards Dany and Khal Drogo. As he approached, Dany got a better look of the man.

He was an older man, a decade senior to Khal Drogo. The man had a head of inky black hair that was streaked with white on the temples. Dany saw the man carry himself with a confidence that is usually ascribed to nobility. Dangling around his neck was a medallion of gold that sparkled in the light of the fading sun. Stern, dark eyes studied the Dothraki that danced and drank around him with a cool, analytical look.

As he got closer, the Dothraki slowly hushed down and watched the man move with awe and even fear. Khal Drogo and his bloodriders spied the man as well. The bloodriders reached for their weapons but the khal raised a hand, causing them to stop.

The green-cloaked man stood before the khal at the bottom of the earthen ramp in full view of the khalasar. All around, there were hushed voices and wide, astonished eyes. Even down below, Dany could hear Viserys, Jorah and Illyrio speaking softly.

For a long moment there was silence. Some of the Dothraki that stood near him stepped away, as if they were afraid to catch a fatal illness.

Khal Drogo stood and he descended to meet the man. All eyes watched as the khal met this newcomer.

The khal stood a few inches taller than the man and looked far more threatening but, there was something about the man in green that made Dany feel even more unsettled than before. After the long moment of silence, Khal Drogo said something; his voice was deep and sounded harsh.

To Dany it sounded like he was demanding something of the man or threatening him.

The man raised an eyebrow and replied in fluent Dothraki, his voice was even and smooth like silk.

Silence fell again for a few moments then suddenly, Khal Drogo burst out laughing. His laughter was booming and hearty, as if he heard the funniest jest in the world. Suddenly, to Dany's surprise, the khal and the man embraced like long lost kin.

After the embrace, the khal claped a hand on the man's shoulder and he gestured to the ramp that seated Dany, the khal's bloodriders and the other honored guests. The man bowed a head and said something in Dothraki and the khal grinned.

Drogo turned and he announced something in a booming voice and the people looked relieved and the revelry resumed, as if nothing had happened.

Dany blinked in confusion. What had just happened? Who was this man and why did he cause such a stir, let alone earn a seat of honor from the khal? The man sat up higher than Viserys, Ser Jorah and Illyrio but he still sat below the khal and his bloodriders, as per custom.

The man sat a level below Dany, which interested Dany even more.

Within moments, a plate of steaming hot meat, a bowl of stew and a cup of spiced wine were brought to the man. He accepted it graciously and dined.

As the man ate, Dany kept an eye on the man. Upon closer inspection, the man was well groomed like a lord, with his cloak and his medallion but he also appeared to have been through a hard life with skin that looked like aged leather and rough, calloused hands.

When a slave girl arrived to refill Dany's cup, she asked her about the newcomer. The slave looked at her in surprise.

"You not know him?" exclaimed the girl in low Valyrian. Dany felt a little foolish but she shook her head.

The slave cast a look over her shoulder toward the man and then looked back to Dany. "That is Ra's al Ghul" said the slave, in almost a reverent whisper "Him lord of a great House. Traveled from Qarth to see the Khal".

Dany cocked an eyebrow "How does he know the khal?"

"He fought together with Khal and khalasar in many battles. They are like brothers."

"If they are like brothers, why did everyone look afraid of him?" The slave fell silent. She glanced around nervously, as if she was worried to be overheard.

Finally, the girl said in a voice so soft that Daenerys almost missed what she had said. "They call him Demon. Very dangerous, even Khal fears him."

With that the slave girl left to tend to the other guests, leaving Daenerys feeling a little more interested and a little more terrified of the man.

She looked down at the many Dothraki as they danced, drank and fought. The young Targaryen then glanced over at the man known as Ra's al Ghul. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

He was staring directly at her. Instantly, their eyes locked. Ra's Al Ghul's dark eyes studied her for a moment and seemed to bear a deep, unfathomable intelligence. His stern, emotionless face betrayed no emotion. Dany could see why he was called the demon.

The man looked cold and cruel with a face that looked as pitiless as a slaver. Oddly, the man's face slowly changed. A warm, friendly smile appeared on his lips. Ra's raised his cup of wine to her and bowed his head a little.

Dany's fear and nervousness faded a little. The man didn't seem like a monster. Maybe his name and his mannerisms were a mask to protect the man within.

In comparison to the Dothraki and Khal Drogo, with their strange, beast like ways, Ra's Al Ghul looked like a kind, civilized, nobleman. However, the young Targaryen knew that appearances could be deceiving and she felt that there was something dark hiding within the man.

* * *

As the festivities wound down, as the feasting and celebrating calmed, it soon came time to present bride gifts to the new khaleesi.

Viserys presented her with some slaves to serve as her handmaidens; Ser Jorah gifted her with a stack of books of Westeros and of its history and people. Soon, one by one, the rest of the khalasar brought forth their gifts; Pelts, jewels, needles, jars of scents and feathers and many other handsome gifts.

The gifts soon began to accumulate into large piles, each filled with more gifts than she has ever received in her life.

Ra's al Ghul stepped forward and a solemn hush fell upon the gathered khalasar. The man towered over Dany and she caught a faint hint of scent of blossoms emanating from him. He bowed low and humbly. "My lady" greeted the man in the common tongue of Westeros.

When he rose, Dany saw a kind expression on his face "My name is Ra's al Ghul, of the House of al Ghul, of Qarth. It is an honor to finally meet you."

He smiled "I knew your father, Aerys, and your brother, Rhaegar."

"Y-you did?" asked Daenerys in surprise.

He nodded "I was a good friend of your father and your brother saved my life. I owe him a great debt". A sad look crossed his features "Unfortunately, I have been unable to repay him." Viserys mumble something that sounded an insult. Whether or not Ra's had heard him, he gave no indication.

Instead, the man known as a demon took off his medallion and he placed it around Dany's neck. He then declared something loudly in Dothraki, which caused everyone around them to gape. Even Khal Drogo looked taken aback.

Viserys scowled in confusion and turned to Illyrio for the translation. The young woman looked as confused as her brother, which earned a chuckle from the lord in green.

Ra's al Ghul explained "What I have said is this: I have pledged to honor any three requests that you desire. Anything you may need, consider it done."

Dany's eyes widened in wonder and astonishment. Nobody has ever done that for her. Her whole life, Viserys and herself had lived on the run from the Usurper's hired knives and have lived on the kindness and generosity of various wealthy and noble houses. After what little of their wealthy had been spent, they had resorted to begging.

Now, she was marrying a powerful Khal and a noble lord offered to grant her anything her heart desires. Maybe she could ask him to help her get out of this marriage, but that didn't seem possible and it would only infuriate Viserys.

Ra's Al Ghul noticed her bewilderment and he chuckled again. "You don't have to request anything now. You may save these favors for another time. If you are ever in need, you may call upon me and my house at any time and we will come to your aid." There was a sincere look on his face that told Dany and everyone else that he meant every word he said.

"Remember this my dear child: You are always welcomed in my home and in Qarth" said Ra's al Ghul.

He wished her and the Khal well and he withdrew, vanishing into the crowd of Dothraki.

The rest of the khalasar bestowed their gifts, until Khal Drogo was the last one, who presented a gift of his own.

* * *

The next morning, Ra's al Ghul was nowhere to be seen.

Ser Jorah told her that the green-cloaked lord had left as suddenly as he had arrived and that he must have already began his long journey back to the glorious city of Qarth, which lay far beyond the Red Waste.

The young Targaryen was a little disappointed that Ra's al Ghul had gone. She wanted to thank him for his kind gift, to learn more of his relationship with her family and to say goodbye.

Although she was disappointed, Daenerys didn't feel sad.

For reasons unknown, she felt, deep down, that she will see the man known as the Demon again.

* * *

Ra's al Ghul sat in his palanquin and watched as the long, rolling plains of the Dothraki sea pass him by.

It was good to see his old friend again. The Khal has grown strong and his Khalasar was certainly mighty. Ra's remembered when the Khal was a wild, young Dothraki, who burned with passion and with an ambition to lead his own great Khalasar.

Ra's fought along side his young friend on many conquests, though he detested some of his young ally's brutal methods and custom but he held his tongue, for a time. He stood up for the unarmed and the innocent a number of times, which made the Khal laugh. Eventually, Ra's grew tired and parted ways with the young man and settled in Qarth.

The nobleman thought of the wedding and of the riotous evening that he witnessed. Dothraki weddings were always a colorful affair, filled with fine food, plenty of wine and healthy amounts of bloodshed.

Ra's was glad that his daughter Talia didn't accompany him, knowing the danger that would come if she had attended, although he feared more for the safety of the Khal and his khalasar than his own daughter's. Ra's knew that she could handle any situation. After all, he taught her everything he knew.

His thoughts then settled on the young Targaryens he saw.

The boy was just that, a boy playing at being a man. He may be of the blood of the dragon and have the temper but he lacked the patience and wisdom of his forebears. Ra's knew the boy's father, grandfather, great-grandfather and even spoke with his great-great-grandfather.

All four of those once great kings would die of shame if they saw what their name has been reduced to.

The girl, however, was a different matter. She was young and frightened and lacked the confidence that a Targaryen typically had. Probably because of the abuses of her brother and not being raised in the ways of the Targaryens.

Ra's had known of the Rebellion, the deaths of Aerys and Rhaegar, and the eventual fall of the Targaryen line.

True, Ra's could've stepped in. He could've summoned his servants and all his warriors and gone to the aid of the house of his old friend. He could've protected his friend's family and all those who were mercilessly cut down by the dogs of house Lannister and Baratheon, but he didn't.

Although they were old friends, Ra's could not and would not go to Aerys' aid.

Knowing the madness of the Targaryen line and how it has taken its toll on his once beloved friend, Ra's felt that it would be too late for him to do anything and that Aerys' fall was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe this was good.

Ra's considered the girl, Daenerys. She was young, lacked confidence and experience. But the gift of the magister, Illyrio, may be the key to the restoring of that ancient house.

Ra's has lived an incredibly long life, though not as long as his close ally, and had seen many extraordinary things. Those old petrified eggs were quite a sight, relics of a bygone era, an age of heroes and legends that still lives on in story and song.

In his extended lifetime, Ra's had studied everything he could on dragons and had worked with the finest minds in the whole world to try and revive those great beasts but proved unsuccessful…until now.

Those old rocks, as Daenerys and Illyrio mistook them for, were much more than what they appear.

Ra's al Ghul smiled and gazed out across the vast expanse of green and could easily hear the powerful wing beats of a dragon.

"These are interesting times" murmured the Demon "Very interesting…."

End of chapter

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 **(a/n: So, what do you think? Ok, so the story will follow the series (a bit of the book and the tv series) but may diverge here and there due to the presence of Batman/Dc characters. I won't be able to update very often but don't worry, i will update when i can.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this and here is a sneak peak of next time: _At the Tourney of the Hand, Sansa encounters members of House Wayne and witnesses the appearance the terrible scourge, the Laughing Prince (otherwise known as the Pale Man). But she also witnesses the arrival of the newest hero of that the common people sing and talk about: the Dark Knight._ )**


	3. Pt 3: Tourney of the Hand

**(a/n: Here i am, back again! I hope you enjoy!)**

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Part 3: Tourney of the Hand

Sansa couldn't believe her eyes. King's Landing was alive with activity.

The commons streamed through the gates like a river to see the tourney. Mingled among them were a variety of knights and freeriders from all over Westeros. The morning was cool and the sun shone brightly, accenting the numerous colors of banners and clothing.

Sansa, Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole rode to the tourney in a litter, joining the steady stream of people and migrated towards the filed just beyond the city walls, passing hundreds of tents and pavilions that belonged to knights and lords, high and low. They watched as knights and squires readying themselves for the joust and the melee and other contests that they were to participate in.

Sansa gaped as she witnessed a number of legendary knights trot past her.

The white cloaked knights of the Kingsguard, all-wearing matching white and silver except for the Kingslayer who wore gold. Jeyne pointed out other tourney participants as they passed, such as Lord Beric Dondarrion and Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, lumbered past them. The banner of the Freys from the Crossing flew over a nearby pavilion.

Sansa recognized several of her father's own men readying themselves in order to represent the North. Compared to the numerous other knights, all dressed in beautiful, elegant armor, the Northerners looked shabby. It was like a dream for the two girls; the finery, the sights and sounds were all intoxicating.

It was as if the two girls were taking part in one of the many songs or tales they heard growing up. Sansa and Jeyne had dreamt of this moment for a number of years and now, they were able to witness it all in person. Speta Mordane ushered them into their place with the other highborn spectators just as the joust began.

The three sat on a bench beside two girls who were a few years her senior, a handsome man a few years younger than Sansa's father and a boy Arya's age. All three were clad in black and silver. Sansa looked at the boy and then to the girls. For a moment, the young Stark thought she recognized one of the girls but she felt the she was mistaken. After another look, she suddenly realized why the girl was familiar.

"Cassandra?" said Sansa.

The girl turned to Sansa and her eyes widened in recognition. "Sansa!" exclaimed the girl, surprised. The two greeted each other with a warm hug.

Cassandra was taller than Sansa, almost taller than Robb. She had beautiful hair as black as ink and her face as pale as the bark of a weirwood tree. The two have known each other as they grew up. Cassandra was the daughter of one of House Stark's bannermen, Lord Wayne.

Whenever there was a feast or business, the two girls would play together. The young boy sitting beside her was obviously her younger brother, Damien and the man sitting beside the other girl was without a doubt their father, master of House Wayne, Lord Bruce Wayne. Compared to Eddard Stark, Lord Wayne was as just as honorable, but younger and more confident but he lived more lavishly and avoided officiating in his lordly duties as much as he could.

Sansa remembered her father's opinion of him. Eddard viewed the young lord as a loyal and honorable man but not very reliable when concerning politics due to his constant drinking, feasting and hunting, which earned him the title of "Summer Lord".

The Wayne's were a peculiarity. Their style of clothing and manners would be considered that of a Southern noble house. There were some jests that Wayne's were more southern than northern, considering their position. House Wayne ruled a stretch of land at the foot of a range of snowcapped mountains closer to the Neck.

Despite the jests, there was no doubt that the Wayne's were northerners. On the male side of the family Lord Thomas Wayne, Bruce's father, was a Northerner through and through, having the blood of the First Men coursing through his family and, more prominently, through his cousins of House Forrester.

Thomas's wife, Martha, was a daughter of a small lord from the Vale but her loyalty was to her husband and both were beloved by the people in the North. All of it was history for Sansa but it meant something to her father. Regardless, Lord Wayne and his entire House have been loyal to the Starks for years and will continue to be for years to come.

Cassandra introduced Sansa and Jeyne to her little brother and to the girl who sat beside her, Barbara. The four girls watched as the first joust began.

* * *

The first few jousts had already passed.

Jory Cassel of the Stark House guard won twice, unseating Horas Redwyne and a knight of House Frey. Lothor Brune rode against Jory and after a few tilts, came out victorious. They cheered for their fellow northerners but were disappointed when each of the Stark's own men were eliminated from the tourney.

Regardless of the loss, each of the girls cheered loudly for the handsome Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.

Barbara cheered the loudest when an aged knight with a thick mustache entered the lists. "Her father" explained Cassandra "Ser James Gordon. An excellent rider and a good friend of my father."

The mustached knight wasn't extremely old but he was certainly the one of eldest participant in the tourney, the oldest being Ser Barristan Selmy. His face looked weary, covered in deep lines and had tired brown eyes. Despite his tired appearance, he fared much better than Sansa expected.

The aged northerner unseated two knights and survived a few more tilts before being knocked off his steed by a younger northerner by the name of Ser Dent, who was in tern eliminated in the next joust against a Ser Grayson.

As the day went on, the number of participants shrunk down to a few. Among the final few, were Ser Loras, Ser Gregor Clegane, a knight of the Vale named Ser Hugh, Robar Royce and a ward of House Wayne, Ser Richard Grayson. Sansa felt herself blush as Ser Richard rode by.

Tall, strong and handsome, Richard Grayson was almost resembled Lord Wayne and his son Damian. Raven hair, icy blue eyes and strong features, some whispered that he was the bastard son of Bruce Wayne but there was hardly any proof. Although he was handsome, Sansa would still choose Ser Loras over Ser Grayson if given the chance.

Ser Loras Tyrell had an ethereal beauty that made him seem more than human, like one of the many heroes from the old songs and legends.

After Ser Royce was unseated, the Mountain and Ser Hugh entered the lists. The two knights clashed and Ser Gregor was the victor.

To the horror of all the spectators, the fallen Ser Hugh was grievously wounded. The fallen knight lay helpless in the mud, gurgling on his blood as it oozed from the wound in his throat. In no time at all, the knight from the Vale bled to death. Silence befell the crowd as the knight's body was carried away. Jeyne Poole sobbed at the sight of death and blood. Cassandra lost a bit of color in her face, Damien was silent and morose, even Lord Wayne looked unsettled.

After they carried the body away, Jeyne Poole was led away by Septa Mordane from the tourney and taken back to the Red Keep to calm her nerves.

Lord Wayne, who looked liked very pale, offered to escort them. Septa Mordane accepted graciously and the three left.

Sansa remained with Cassandra and Damien to watch the remaining jousts of the day. It was some moments until the next joust began. Ser Loras and Ser Grayson arrived in the lists. The Knight of Flowers looked divine in his elegant armor that of his, the breastplate covered with jeweled flowers and a cloak actual flowers. Ser Grayson dressed in typical armor that looked inelegant yet strong.

As he trotted past, Ser Loras plucked a red rose from his cloak and he gave it to Sansa as a token of her beauty. Sansa blushed and swore to cherish it. Cassandra told her how lucky she was, while Damien grumbled about being bored.

The two knights clashed and after two tilts, Ser Loras was the victor. The crowd cheered as the triumphant knight waved and wheeled his horse around to trot back to his tent, he stopped.

Soon, the cheering died and an eerie silence fell on all. Ser Grayson, who stood mud-spattered beside his horse, lifted his visor, revealing a shocked face.

Sansa followed his gaze and felt her heart stop.

Trotting into the muddy lists was a large white warhorse, bearing a rider wearing night-black armor and carrying a black banner with a three-headed crimson dragon. The people began to whisper and mutter amongst themselves as this new rider rode past the shocked spectators and knights. As he rode past, Sansa saw that on his breastplate was a crimson dragon, which matched the banner, made of beautiful rubies that glittered in the light of the sun.

Immediately, Sansa recognized the standard that the rider bared. "The Targaryens" murmured Sansa, in shock.

"That armor" whispered Cassandra in awe "The ruby dragon on the breastplate…it belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen. But how…he's dead."

"Apparently not" a new voice said softly.

Sansa looked to her side and saw a thin man around her father's age standing there. He wore fine clothing like a highborn lord. His dark hair was streaked with grey and his breath smelled of mints. The most unique part of his attire, was the silver mockingbird clasp that hung on his cloak.

"That armor is definitely his" remarked the man "Although it is in much better shape than it was when I last saw it." He gave Sansa a knowing smile "As everybody knows, Prince Rhaegar was smashed by our beloved king's war hammer and the rubies were lost to the currents of the Trident. It must have cost a small fortune to find and repair his armor."

Sansa didn't recognize the man but she felt that there was something familiar about the silver mockingbird and who owned it.

The mysterious knight rode past Sansa. She tried to see who might be wearing the armor of the fallen prince but the man's face was hidden the shadow of his helm. Everyone watched as the knight's horse came to a stop before the king and queen.

King Robert, although partially drunk, recognized the armor and standard of the knight. His face was drained of color and his eyes were wide with disbelief. It looked as if he was witnessing the return of a horrible phantom from the past.

"Impossible" murmured the king in disbelief.

The knight dismounted and planted his banner into the muddy ground. For a long moment, nobody spoke a word. All eyes were upon the knight and the king. Finally, the king rose to his feet and snarled, "Who in the seven hells are you? Certainly not Rhaegar Targaryen. He's dead! I buried my war hammer in his chest and ensured that vile bastard breathed his last."

The knight didn't reply. He stood there, silent as a crypt and still as a statue.

The king's face grew red and his voice louder "So what is this then? You intend to mock your king with this silly display? I can have your head!"

Without a word, the knight in black reached into a pack that clung to his horse's saddle and withdrew a beautiful blue winter rose. Robert's eyes widened in horror and he looked almost ready to keel over. Without much effort, the knight tossed the blue flower up at the two monarchs. The flower landed at the feet of Queen Cersei, who looked just as confused and shocked as her husband.

A soft whisper ran through the crowd. The king plucked the flower off the ground and looked at it closely. His expression hardened and his hate filled eyes turned to the knight.

"Who are you?" asked Robert, his voice was softer but it had not lost its edge "You dare mock me with this? With Rhaegar's armor and with this flower! I shall take your head and place it on a pike!" he turned and barked at one of the gold cloaks for a sword so he could behead the impudent knight.

Just as the gold cloak reluctantly surrendered his sword, there came a soft laugh.

All eyes turned to the knight and saw that the knight was shaking violently and laughing. The laughter grew louder and louder. As if he grew tired of the charade, the knight reached up and lifted his helm, revealing a face that made the assembled spectators, the king included, draw back in fear.

The face of the man was pale as death, his blood red lips curled up into a cruel grin. The man removed his gauntlets and ran them through his emerald green hair. Slowly, the man shed his armor, revealing fine green and purple clothing. Embroidered on the breast was a grinning moon. Gasps and chatter began to erupt around them.

Sansa gazed in horror and awe at the man, recognizing who he truly was: the Laughing Prince.

Even in the North, Sansa had heard tell of a strange, pale man who dressed like a highborn lord and committed acts of cruelty against men and women, both highborn and low. The Laughing Prince had used deception and excessive violence to pillage several towns, farmsteads and even a castle. He attacked wagons and caravans on the road in the dead of night, slaughtering all except one who was to tell the tale of what happened.

Among his most well known acts of villainy, it was known that he played cruel japes on his victims. Pretending to be a helpless beggar before killing bandits and unwary travelers, distributing poisoned meat and mead to starving common folk and hanging the bodies of loved ones in trees for his victims to find.

All across Westeros, from Dorne to Winterfell and from the Iron Islands to Kings Landing, all had seen the grinning moon of the Laughing Prince at least once. Some stories say that he was a demon who fed upon the death and misery of others, while others say that he was a plague from the old gods upon those who forsook them. Sansa didn't take much stock in such rumors but she had to admit, there was something strange about this villainous prince. The way he appeared and vanished, the way he evaded capture and the amount of blood he had shed, it all seemed to be the work of an inhuman fiend, not a man who looked like a mummer.

The pale man giggled and he cast off the last piece of armor and stretched his limbs.

"You have no idea how good it feels to be rid of this armor" said the Laughing Prince, his limbs popped softly "It was a pain to it on. A size too small for me."

The king stood there, glowering and seething with anger. "You…" growled King Robert, leveling the borrowed sword at the pale man's heart "You dare show your face around here…you dare mock your king…"

"Mock?" said the Laughing Prince, shocked "Nay sire! I dare not mock, I came bearing a gift and to honor your new Hand."

"A gift, eh?" said the king, smirking "You mean your head, ready to be put on a pike? I gladly accept!" Quickly, he lunged his blade at the villain's heart.

The king was too slow. The Laughing Prince merely danced away from the king's lunge and the following sword strokes. There was no doubt the king could cleave the pale man's head off but his size and his drunkenness slowed his attacks considerably. The people were silent at first, shocked at the display but soon began cheering for their king, hoping that he would cut down this mad man.

With each swing, the Laughing Prince stepped, ducked or twirled away. The king's face grew redder and his breath grew heavy.

For a moment, Robert paused and he growled like an angry beast. His opponent, calm and untouched, clapped his hands.

"Good form sire!" complimented the Laughing Prince sincerely "It just needs more power, more ferocity, more oomph!" he made an obscene gesture, which merely caused the king to grow redder.

Members of the Kingsguard and several tourney participants offered to finish off the pale man but Robert snarled at them and they backed away. The king tried swinging a few more times, snarling like a hungry dog. Robert drove the man back up against the wall that separated the highborn spectators, right where Sansa and the Waynes sat.

The king grinned madly and swung his blade and caught only wood. The Laughing Prince leaned against the small wooden wall and yawned a little as the king pried his blade free.

The pale man glanced sideways and his eyes landed on Sansa. A small chill ran down the Stark girl's spine. The man's eyes were like two pieces of emeralds that burned with a mania that Sansa has never seen before in her life. Sansa shivered as the man his winked at her.

Turning back to face the king, the Laughing Prince grinned "Come now, can we not sit and drink? Can we not watch the remainder of the tourney as friends?"

"Oh, Aye" said Robert "When you're dead!" he slashed at the pale man's throat. The Laughing Prince ducked and with fluid, elegant motions knocked the sword from the king's hand and aimed a dagger at the now tired monarch's throat. All fell silent.

The people sat and watched in shock as a their king, who in his youth was a powerful warrior, was had a knife held to his throat by a pale lunatic. "Now your excellency" said the Laughing Prince "Don't look so sad. This is a happy occasion, you should smile more!" he burst out laughing.

The Kingsguard and several gold cloaks moved to help but the pale mad man moved the knife closer to the king's throat until the blade touched his skin. Nobody dared move. From his twisted smile and the gleam in his eye, everyone knew that the Laughing Prince would slit the king's throat without hesitation.

Sansa felt her heart race. Cassandra, Barbara and Damien drew closer to each other as if it were safer to be in a group.

"Don't worry" whispered the lord with the mockingbird clasp "I won't let anything happen to you. I owe your mother that much at least." She frowned in confusion. Who was this man? He seemed vary familiar.

King Robert looked down at the knife then up at the man who held it. "Well, what are you waiting for?" demanded the king, impatiently "If you're going to kill me than get it over with, lest I die of boredom."

The Laughing Prince threw back his head and let out a loud, mad cackle. He wiped a way a tear from his eye and sighed, "Well, if it is the wish of my king, then so shall it be!" Before he could do deal the finishing stroke, a obsidian-black chain wrapped itself around the pale lunatic's waist and violently ripped him away from the king, sending him falling backward into the muddy ground. All eyes turned and were amazed to see the king's savior.

Sitting astride a great black horse was a knight, wearing ink black armor. The knight wore a flowing black cloak with a silver bat clasp. Strapped to his back were twin blades. What drew the most attention were the helm and the symbol. The helm was unique, having a human shape but had a pointed nose and tall, pointed ears, making the knight look like a bat. Embossed on the breastplate was a bat, made of a darker shade of black, taking flight.

Immediately, Sansa and all who were present recognized the knight. Based on the bat on his breastplate, it was clear to everyone that this was the hero who stalked the dark, hunting for the Laughing Prince and protecting the people who usually fell prey to the pale man or to bandits. This knight was the hero spoken off by the small folk far and wide: the Dark Knight.

The knight hauled the laughing man through the mud by the chain until he was at his foot.

The now muddied lunatic looked up and grinned at the oddly dressed knight. "Ah, Ser Bats!" cried the Laughing Prince, giddy "I did not know that you would be here. If I had, I would've brought an extra cask of wine! Arbor gold, my personal favorite."

"Shut up" growled The Dark Knight. His voice was deep and gravelly. The knight looked up at the shocked king and crowd. "My apologies your majesty. I arrived as soon as I could."

The king was speechless, having no words as to what was happening. The knight wheeled his horse around and he snapped the reigns, taking off at full gallop. The Laughing Prince was dragged behind the horse, his body bouncing along the ground and being soaked in mud. Despite all that, the pale man laughed like a mad the whole time. Within moments, the two were gone.

For a few long moments, all were silent and motionless. It was the most bizarre and frightening thing they had witnessed this day, far more frightening than the death of Ser Hugh. After the long silence, the crowds began to buzz with excited chatter.

The King walked away to his pavilion with as much dignity as he could muster, but he was still visibly angry and confused.

Sansa was breathless. King Robert had almost lost his life but he fought against the Laughing Prince, the most notorious villain alive. In addition, the arrival of the Dark Knight, his valiant rescue of Robert and sudden departure with the captured villain was something out of the songs and stories that Sansa heard. It was frightening seeing it first hand but it was enchanting to actually be a witness to something so…amazing.

* * *

That evening, at the feast, the night carried on as usual. Lords, ladies and knights drank and feasted as if nothing strange had happened.

King Robert was in a better mood and the assembled nobility complimented his swordplay. The king waved a hand and said that if he had his war hammer and if he wasn't so bloody drunk, than he would have crushed the giggling fool like a bug.

When asked about the Laughing Prince's gift, it was discovered that he had brought a wagon filled with casks of Arbor gold and a few slabs of salted pork and chicken. After a small taste, it was discovered that the wine and meat wasn't poisoned. But, not wanting to take any chances, the food was disposed of.

Sansa spent the evening chattering with Cassandra and Barbara. The two girls were just as frightened as she was but they managed to keep their lady like composure. Damien declared that he wasn't afraid and that if that mummer ever showed his face again or threatened his sister, he would slit the lunatic's throat.

Sansa spotted the man with the silver mockingbird clasp and learned from Barbara that the man was Lord Petyr Baelish who was a member of the King's small council and was a friend of her father and was also a friend of Sansa's mother Catelyn.

The Stark girl felt thankful that he was there at the tourney and she had felt a little safer when he assured her that he would protect her. But she knew very well that her Joffrey would protect her, since she was promised to marry him one day.

The rest of the fest was a haze. Sansa spent the majority of the evening with her beloved Joffrey. Once she had enough, Sansa was taken back to the castle.

On the way back, the young Stark girl couldn't help but feel happy. Although the death of Ser Hugh was a terrible thing, the rest of the day was like a beautiful dream, filled with handsome knights on their prancing steeds, fine lords and ladies in their beautiful silks and, best of all, a brave hero who saved the king from a diabolical villain.

* * *

Deep in the Kingswood, a fair distance from the lights and sounds of King's Landing, the man known as the Laughing Prince was bound to a tree.

Held tightly in place by thick black chains, the pale man simply rested his head against the bark of the towering oak, having given up trying to escape and was now trying to let his aching body heal.

Despite the pain, it had been a fantastic day for him.

An afternoon of fighting and laughing, the now mud spattered man wished he could have taken part in more of the Tourney's festivities. He was so sure that he would've made a splash in the melee and win the hearts of a few lovely ladies in the audience. But alas, he was tied to a tree and was about to have a nice, civilized chat with an old friend.

Speaking of which…

"Hello, Batsy" greeted the Laughing Prince in a silky tone "How long has it been hmm? Two months? Three?"

"Five" growled the familiar voice. The tall familiar shape emerged from the shadows and stepped into a shaft of pale moonlight that filtered in through the trees. To an ordinary man, this dark knight was indeed a specter to fear. But the Laughing Prince was no ordinary man.

"Now then, what is this about?" asked the pale man, bored "I was enjoying myself, spending time with an old friend and wooing fair maidens when you arrive and ruin it."

"I'm here to stop you" said the knight "…but I am also here to ask you some questions."

"Oh? What about?"

The knight said nothing. For a moment he stared off into the dark, considering his words carefully.

The pale man raised an eyebrow "Come on now, ask your questions. I know you want to. It's just eating away at you…and I have a feeling that I know what it is that you are about to ask. Hurry now, speak before I fall asleep!"

For a few long silent moments, the knight stared at the mud-spattered man.

Finally, the knight asked his questions "What do you know of Jon Arryn's murder and who is the one known as the Kingmaker?"

The Laughing Prince smiled but it wasn't a pleasant one. He found many things funny life, but these two questions were not very funny. Not funny at all.

* * *

 **(a/n: So, what do you think? So, i kinda did some tweaking for Bruce's family. Cassandra is obviously Cassandra Cain, Damien is Damien Wayne and Richard is Dick. I kinda made most of them family, just to make things interesting. There'll be more characters showing up next time. I hoped you enjoyed this! See you around.**

 **Next time: In Vaes Dothrak, Dany encounter's a new friend and a mercenary who saves her life. In King's Landing, things are not all as it seems and as Arya is training with Syrio Forel, she encounter's a surly old warrior named Slade.)**


	4. Pt 4: Swords & Knives

**(a/n: Please enjoy and review and all that!)**

* * *

Part 4: Swords & Knives

Arya ran. She sprinted down the corridor, giving chase to the scruffy old cat that she found near the kitchens. The old cat scampered down a spiraling staircase that lay at the end of the corridor. The young Stark girl hastened after it.

As she ran, Arya felt alive and filled with vigor. Syrio, her dance master, had given her leave for the day. With the extra free time left in the day, the young Stark decided to practice what she had learned.

The cat led her down to one of the lower floors in the Red Keep. Her eyes roved around the corridor for the shaggy old creature. She spotted it and gave chase once again. The cat evaded her attempt to capture him and raced away.

The young Stark followed, passing a few guards and a servant. The guards and servants didn't mind her chasing the cat. The cat was something of a legend in the Red Keep. Nobody knows who owned the cat but it had been spotted around the castle numerous times over the years. Many attempted to capture him or drive him away but their efforts were in vain.

They thought it odd for a girl to chase the cat, as well as a few rats, but they let her be. The further she ran, the more Arya felt like she was loosing herself in the vast, endless corridors of the Red Keep.

Arya paused in the middle of one of the courtyards and tried to seek out that old cat. "You lost, child?" asked a gruff voice.

The young Stark girl spun around and saw a large, white haired man sitting at the base of the lone alder tree. Arya shook her head but said nothing. The words died in the girl's throat. The man sitting under the tree looked intimidating, even more intimidating than the Hound.

The stranger wore black wool over black boiled leather and a shirt of mail. He had a head of long, snow-white hair that was braided into a ponytail. His face had a few small scars but his most prominent feature was the patch over one of his eyes. The man's other eye was blue as the sky and although he was sitting, Arya could easily see that he was large, not only in height, but in muscle. The young Stark could imagine him being an equal match for the Hound and more than half the Kingsguard in a battle.

She noted the great sword that lay across his lap and it made her think of Ice, her father's sword. Arya wondered if it was anything like her father's blade. A gentle wind tumbled through the courtyard, causing the grey fur cloak hung from a low branch to flap lazily like a banner.

The man frowned at Arya "What's the matter? Shadowcat got your tongue?"

"N…no Ser" squeaked Arya. The man grunted and sheathed his sword.

"W-who are you? What are you doing here?" asked Arya "Are you a knight?"

The man smiled "Do I look like one?" The young Stark shook her head.

"My name is Slade" greeted the man with a nod "I'm a sellsword by trade. I have come to seek an audience with the king. He and I have to discuss a matter of…business."

Arya could feel the sharpened edge in his voice. Whatever King Robert did, the man named Slade was not happy about it.

"And what of you, girl?" asked Slade "Shouldn't you be…I don't know what it is you women do in these castles…singing or something."

"I don't like doing those things. I'm chasing a cat" replied Arya softly, like a child hesitantly admitting to a mistake.

The sellsword gave her a look and then snorted, "You sound like my Rose. She never was one for doing ladylike things, always going against her mother's wishes. Always off looking for trouble." He stopped his rambling and asked Arya "Other than chasing a cat, what is it you do around here? You a servant?"

Arya frowned "No. I live here. My father is the Hand of the King. He is Lord Eddard Stark."

Slade cocked an eyebrow "Oh really? Well than, young wolf, it is an honor to meet you."

He bowed his head slightly, almost mockingly "Forgive me if I kiss the ground you walk on like the other dogs from the North, but your father and I share a unpleasant history."

Arya frowned "Really? My father has never made mention of you?"

Slade smiled "Really? Ol' Ned and I go back a ways, back to even before Robert's little rebellion. I'm almost hurt that he didn't mention me." He set aside his sword and he gestured for Arya to sit "Come, sit with me. I promise I don't bite."

Arya didn't say anything. She stood there for a moment, watching the man pull a small bag over to his side and pulled out a peach. He drew a dagger from a sheath near his boot and used to slice the peach in half. Feeling a little hungry and curious, Arya walked over and sat down a few feet away from the sellsword. Slade tossed half of the peach to the young Stark girl.

"So, which Stark are you?" asked Slade as he chewed on a mouthful of peach.

"My name is Arya" said Arya.

Slade nodded slowly "You look like a Northerner. Your sister and older brother take after the Tully's." He leaned back and rested his head against the alder tree. For a few long moments, the man said nothing. The two ate their peaches in silence, listening to the faint sounds around of the city outside and the castle around them.

Finally, the man spoke "Gods, I hate King's Landing."

Arya raised an eyebrow "you do?"

"Of course! This place is filthy, loud and filled with all kinds of vermin." He shook his head "Some of them you can't even see until it's too late." The sellsword nodded toward someone and Arya saw a pair of White Cloaks walk by.

The two knights looked their way and regarded Slade with scornful looks. The sellsword grinned and raise a hand "How are you today, good Ser's? Rescued any maidens today? Slain any monsters?" The two knights said nothing. The two glared at the sellsword. Arya thought they were going to march over and kill Slade but they picked up there pace and walked away quickly in a huff.

Slade glanced to Arya and said, in a softer voice, "A word of advice child. Go home. This city is no place for good folk or men of honor, like your father."

Arya frowned at him "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that this place is cursed. In its long life, nothing but horror and tragedy has happened in this godsforsaken place." He paused for a moment and asked, "Do you know of Elia Martel?"

Arya nodded "Prince Rhaegar's wife."

"Poor girl" muttered Slade "Kindest and most gentle woman I have ever met. She fell victim to the vermin of this castle. Those vermin still prance around in their finery, calling themselves men of honor. This is what I think of their damn honor." he spat a glob of phlegm on the grass. The sellsword sighed deeply "As I have said, this city is not a place for good folk. It's for people like…me."

"But we can't leave" said Arya "My father is Hand of the King and as Hand of the King, nobody can hurt him."

Slade let out an amused chuckle. "You think so? The Mad King thought the same, and look where that got him." He shook his head "No man is untouchable. No matter how rich or powerful he is, all men can bleed and die. That applies to you, your father, the Lannisters, the king-" "you" said Arya, feeling a little angry.

Slade looked at her and smiled then nodded "Yes, even I. But my time has not yet come and it won't, not for a long time."

Arya gave him a look. What did he mean by that? Was this man mad? Before the young Stark girl could ask him what he meant by that, a man dressed in a gold and black tunic arrived at the courtyard and announced that the King was ready to see Slade. He muttered something under his breath and got to his feet. He grabbed his cloak, his sword, bag and a strange looking helm. He put on his cloak and his helm.

The helm was smooth and was painted orange and black. One half was black and had no eyehole, unlike the other half, which was orange, had an eyehole. The sellsword turned and gave Arya a slight bow then turned to leave. He stopped and he turned back to her "One last piece of advice: Learn how to use a sword and keep it close. You may never know when you need it, especially around this castle."

Arya smiled "I am already learning about swords from Master Syrio" "A Braavosi?" the Stark girl nodded.

Slade snorted, "Braavosi swordsmen do know how to make a good show, but are hopeless in a real fight. When you want to learn real swordsmanship, send for me and I could teach you a few things that your teacher could only dream of."

He turned and followed the messenger out of the courtyard, leaving the young Stark behind to ponder if he was serious about his offer.

* * *

Daenerys Targaryen emerged from her palanquin and inspected the large tent before her. The tent offered some exotic spices, fruits and other strange foods and items not found in Vaes Dothrak or in Asshai. Having arrived in Vaes Dothrak a few days before, Dany had already taken part in the stallion heart ceremony. During the ceremony, the crones had declared that her unborn child would soon become "the stallion who mounts the world", the one who will unite the Dothraki and conquer the world.

The whole of Vaes Dothrak celebrated and cheered at that.

Now, with her Khal and several other Khals out hunting, Dany is trying to pass the time. She decided to explore the markets of Vaes Dothrak, where merchants and travelers from all over Essos came to trade with the Dothraki. In the past, Dany and Viserys had to constantly be on guard and always moving to stay ahead of the usurpers hired knives. However, in Vaes Dothrak, there is relative safety and peace.

Old grudges and strife are forgotten. Khal's and their khalasars living as one blood, bound by ancient law to live in harmony when in the presence of the Mother of Mountains. Anyone who dares to draw a weapon within the vicinity of the holy city would suffer the consequences. Dany, her handmaidens and Ser Jorah had already explored the Eastern Market and have just begun exploring the Western Market.

In contrast, the Eastern Market was different from its western counter part. The Eastern Market was comprised of various stalls and caravans from the east, ranging from traders from Yi Ti to merchants from Asshai and the Shadow Lands, with various tents and mud bricked buildings huddled together. The Western Market was organized in a large square that was filled with merchants from the Free Cities.

All merchants are able to visit Vaes Dothrak unhindered, as long as they abide by the laws of the Dothraki and pay the traditional gift of salt, silver and seed to the dosh khaleen. The Western Market was a grand bazaar that fit within the great square and was surrounded by mud baked-brick, animal pens and drinking halls. The bazaar itself was made up of stalls and aisles, each selling interesting new items.

A wrinkly old man with a long grey beard manned the tent that Dany arrived at. He wore flowing blue robes with rings on both hands. The man welcomed Dany and her retinue cheerfully. He offered his best spices and fruits but the Khaleesi politely declined and told him that she wanted to see what else he had. The merchant stepped aside and allowed Daenerys to inspect his goods.

She stepped inside and took look around. Baskets of fruits, several casks of wine and mead, some barrels of grain ringed the inside of the tent. Further in, Dany found a few intricately carved bits of bone that were flecked with small glittering jewels and carvings. All were beautiful but they didn't spark her interest.

"See anything you like?" asked a gruff, accented voice.

Dany turned her head and saw a gruff looking man with bushy hair. He sat on a wooden crate with a crooked bit of wood in one hand and a wineskin in the other. The man was disheveled; wearing a muddied blue tunic, cloak and trousers that were patched up. His hair was a wild tangle of brown on his head and the sides of his face. From the scent, it was apparent that he had been drinking but his eyes were alert, indicating that he wasn't drunk.

One of Daenerys' handmaidens looked at the man, indignant. "This is the wife of Khal Drogo" said the girl "Show her respect or else-"

"Or else wha?" asked the man, his words heavy with an odd accent that Dany couldn't place. "You can't kill me here. If you do, don't you lot tarnish your honor or get cursed or something?" The handmaiden's mouth closed and she looked ready to snap at the man and Jorah looked ready to join in but Dany stopped them both.

Daenerys gave the man a look "She is right. I am Daenerys Targaryen, wife of the great Khal Drogo. You should better watch your tongue, even in Vaes Dothrak."

The man's bushy eyebrows rose "Ooh, 'scuse me your majesty" he bowed his head a little and took a drink from his wineskin.

"Harkness!" snapped an accented voice.

A woman strode into the tent from the opening at the rear. The woman was slender and elegant. Her face was smooth and flawless. Her hair was jet black and braided into a bun. She stepped with grace and purpose, carrying a long walking stick. The woman wore a long black cloak with golden flowers stitched onto the sleeves and front. Beneath the cloak was a white shirt with boiled leather armor on top and she wore, oddly enough, trousers.

Judging from her appearance and her accent, Dany guessed that the woman was from Yi Ti or somewhere in the general area. The woman noted Dany and her retinue. She made a quick and polite bow then turned to the man "Harkness, I told you not to be drinking. You should be standing guard at the front entrance."

"I was!" said the man defensively "Look, I sat out there every day for the last week Kat. I sat out there all morning! Besides, Crowler said he'd take my watch. Can't I enjoy some wine in the shade before I take his watch?"

"You may rest and regain strength but you were not hired to just sit and drink all day" snapped the woman "I have just spoken with Crowler and he has no knowledge of this switch. Now go!" she pointed to the front of the tent. The man rose to his feet and looked like he wanted to complain some more but he saw that the woman was carrying a stick and went silent.

The woman's face was like a porcelain mask; smooth and betrayed nothing pertaining to what she may be thinking. The man scowled at her then he turned and walked away, grumbling under his breath.

The woman turned to Dany, her expression remained blank and bowed "My apologize Khaleesi" said the woman politely "Harkness has a loud mouth and no manners."

"No harm done" said Dany. She glanced sideways and saw the man settling down on a barrel outside the tent and kept his crooked bit of wood and wineskin in hand. He sat there and glared at all the people who passed the tent.

"That man, where is he from?" asked Dany "I'm not familiar with that accent." Having spent a part of her childhood growing up in the Free Cities, Dany was familiar with all accents, except for his.

"He is a mercenary," said the woman "I met him in Braavos. Where he is truly from, I know not." Dany heard the man mumble something and watched him spit at the ground.

"And who might you be?" asked Ser Jorah "I doubt that you are the merchant's wife or his daughter."

"I am also a mercenary" answered the woman "My employer hired the services of myself, Harkness and several others while in Braavos to safe guard his caravan here to Vaes Dothrak and back to Braavos."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. A sellsword who is a woman? The young Khaleesi thought it strange but then again, the cultures that inhabit Essos and beyond were alien compared to that of the Seven Kingdoms and the Free Cities.

The woman bowed again "Forgive me, but I must attend to my duties. I hope you find what it is you are looking for."

Dany thanked her and watched as the woman in black depart and walk out into the hot, bustling market street.

* * *

A few hours passed and Daenerys emerged from the tent, her retinue trailing behind her carrying baskets of salted meat, fruits, and various other items. The sun had shifted in the sky and was hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows in the orange light of dusk.

Feeling tired and wanting to see her beloved, Daenerys moved towards her palanquin but suddenly, a blood-curdling scream caused her to stop.

She turned and saw one of her retinue on the ground, convulsing and frothing at the mouth. Without warning, there was a soft _thwip!_ Another of her number fell, followed by another and another. Each of them fell, dropping their basket and spilling their contents all over the road.

Merchants and traders who were nearby, scattered like frightened animals, while Dany's remaining servants and Ser Jorah quickly surrounded their Khaleesi, trying to shield her from whatever was happening. From in between her protectors, Dany saw a dart with a colorful plumage buried in the throat of one of her fallen handmaidens. Dany's heart stopped and her blood turned cold.

The usurpers hired knives! They even dared attempt to kill strike here, in Vaes Dothrak!

 _Thwip!_

The servant to Dany's side fell to the ground with foam forming in her mouth. When she fell, the young Targaryen saw a pair of figures standing there. Both were dressed in brown cloaks and had cloth wrapped around their heads, completely hiding their faces, except for their eyes.

One was holding a long, flute like shaft of wood. The other was carrying a pair of fearsome looking daggers. Dany's eyes widened. How did they smuggle their weapons past the Dothraki guards? Ser Jorah wore his armor but he was just as unarmed as Dany and the thousands of other Dothraki and merchant that were in Vaes Dothrak.

Regardless, Ser Jorah stepped forward and Dany's servants closed the gap. One of the figures stepped forward, slipping his flute like weapon back into the folds of his cloak. Ser Jorah attempted to swing at the assassin but his attack missed and the assassin struck back with several furious strikes that caused the exiled knight to fall.

Dany watched in horror as Ser Jorah tried to move but he seemed to be paralyzed. "Khaleesi, run!" said Ser Jorah hoarsely "Run!"

The young Targaryen tried to move but her legs were not responding. Within seconds, the second assassin, the dagger wielder, was already close. He swept aside Dany's other servants like nothing and he raised his knives to strike. As the man lifted his weapons, Dany noticed that his arms were covered with scars. Every inch of his flesh was covered with notches that were grouped together, as if it were a count of something that was unknown to everyone but the assassin.

Before the assassin could strike, there was a faint whistling sound and the daggers were suddenly knocked out of the man's hands. The man and Dany looked and saw the sellsword in blue, the rude one from earlier, standing there. Dany remembered that his name was Harkness and had now completely forgiven his rude attitude from earlier.

Emerging from the tent was the woman in black. She was carrying the walking stick from before and her face was still as emotionless as a mask. Harkness raised his hand and Dany saw catch the crooked piece of wood that he was holding earlier.

"My, what a mess we have 'ere eh?" noted the hairy sellsword with a soft whistle "I thought you assassin blokes were suppose to be secretive and not alert the whole bloody world of your location." He glanced sideways at his fellow sellsword "Am I right Kat?"

The woman nodded "Indeed."

"This is non of your concern!" snarled the assassin, his voice was rough like stone "Leave or you too will taste my blades!"

"Ooh, that sounds like a threat, doesn't it Kat?" cooed Harkness, eyes twinkling gleefully. The dark haired woman named Kat said nothing.

She stepped forward and said loudly and calmly "You will throw down your weapons and leave while you still can. If not, you will be defeated and you will suffer for what you have done here today."

The two assassins said nothing. The scarred one knelt down and picked up his daggers, while his friend drew a pair of knives of his own.

"Well, I have been itching for a good scrap" said Harkness, giddy and looked ready to burst with excitement.

For a few long moments, an unnatural silence and stillness fell on the entire street. The two assassins and the two sellswords stared each other down. Dany, Jorah and everyone who remained watched in silent terror. Without uttering a word, the two assassins attacked. They charged at the two sellswords, daggers at the ready. Kat and Harkness stood perfectly still.

When the two attackers got close enough, Harkness drew back and hurled his crooked piece of wood. The wood went spiraling at the attacking assassin, which caused him to stop and try to deflect it but it veered out of the way. Distracted, the assassin didn't notice the hairy sellsword coming at him from behind. When he turned around, it was too late. The hairy man threw himself onto the assassin, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

As the two tumbled around, punching and kicking each other, Kat met the scarred assassin head on.

The assassin swung his daggers furiously with an astonishing speed and elegance that made Dany believe that the man wasn't human. However, Kat used her walking stick to block and brush aside his attacks with a fluid grace that matched her opponent's speed.

Dany rushed to Ser Jorah's side and tried to see if he could help but the exiled knight struggled. "I-I don't know how Khaleesi" said the knight, confused and worried "But that bastard somehow paralyzed me. I can't move."

The young Targaryen turned her head and watched as Kat expertly knocked her opponent's daggers free from his hands.

Harkness caught his wooden weapon and started clubbing his opponent's face with it and his other fist.

Kat twirled her walking stick around her and went in for a critical blow but her opponent dodged and he backed away. The assassin looked from Kat to Harkness, who was standing up and dusting himself off. Finally, the assassin turned and faced Dany. The Khaleesi saw that the man was weighing his options. His dark eyes bore deeply into Dany's but he heard something and quickly turned his head, snarling "Seven Hells!"

Dany, Kat and Harkness heard it as well. Thundering of hooves. The Dothraki were coming to her aid.

The assassin turned back to Dany and snarled "Next time princess, you will not be so lucky!" He turned and flitted away. Vaulting over the counter of a nearby tent, the assassin vanished into the cluttered confines of the Bazaar. Dany sank to her knees and felt like she was going to faint but she stayed strong. Kat rushed to her side and tended to Ser Jorah.

Harkness strolled over, carrying a wineskin in his bloodied hand.

"Now that was the best day that I have had on this entire journey" said the sellsword. Dany gave him an odd look and the man offered her a sip of his wineskin. The young Targaryen politely declined and she turned and saw Ser Jorah pushing himself up.

"W-what? How?" asked Dany.

"Stun strikes," replied Kat, calmly "They struck his nerves at the right points so that his body would freeze up. He was lucky that it was only to disable."

"I'm sorry Khaleesi" apologized the exiled knight, his face red with embarrassment "I have failed to protect you."

"It is fine, Ser Jorah, I forgive you" said Dany. She was shaken up by the attack and she felt that she should be mad at Ser Jorah but she couldn't. The knight tried to do his duty and somehow was bested by these assassins. Regardless, they were both alive, as were her other servants. That is what mattered. The assassin's words echoed through her mind. This will not be the end.

Whoever was behind this will be back and will probably send more assassins. What was going to do? Khal Drogo and his warriors were among the best in all of Essos and, arguably, the whole world. But these assassins, they fought in ways that are strange and unfamiliar, even to Dothraki.

A thought came to her mind. "Thank you" said Dany, sincerely "I can not express how grateful I am."

"It is our pleasure" said Kat, nodded at Dany.

"Why? Why did you help us?" asked Ser Jorah "It was not your duty. Your duties require you to protect your master's caravan only, not the Khaleesi."

"I only did this for the reward" said Harkness "And I was very bored. I need to kill something."

"I intervened because it was the honorable thing to do," added Kat "I could not stand idly by and let a pregnant woman be slaughtered."

Dany smiled then said, "I cannot thank you enough. As a reward for saving not only my life, but the life of Ser Jorah and my unborn child, I shall pay twice what your master is paying you and hire you as members of my personal guard."

The two sellswords froze and shared a look. Kat said nothing but Harkness grinned, "I like the sound of that. Better pay, more fighting, it seems like my name day has come again." Dany looked and saw Kat consider her words.

The sellsword said nothing for a good long while, until she looked Dany in the eyes and nodded.

Kat bowed her head and said "My blade is at your service, my lady" "As are mine," said Harkness, bowing dramatically.

Daenerys rose to her feet and, with her two new guards, greeted the mob of mounted Dothraki arrived.

* * *

The scarred assassin picked his way through the throngs of people, carefully trying not to look suspicious. He had ditched his old cloak and face covering and adopted a new, finer cloak.

The assassin envied the Faceless Men. They could easily hide and slip in and out unnoticed like phantoms, unlike him, who was recognizable, thanks to the collection of scars that he kept on his body.

Any other man would say that it was foolish to make him so distinguished and easy to spot. But then again, Zsasz wasn't like other men. He knew how to hide well enough and he was an artist in the art of killing. The scars were reminders of all the lives he took and they were part of a ritual known only to him.

Regardless of his odd rituals, many men and women seek his skills and this job was no different. These Dothraki were strong and were clever in battle but were simple minded and slow to react to vipers hidden in their midst.

Zsasz carefully analyzed the situation in his head. The task failed, not on his part but mostly on the part of his partner. The boy was young and foolish. He was hungry to kill the horseman's woman and collect the bounty. It was true that he had skill but his lack of patience and greed is what gotten him captured.

Zsasz snorted. He wasn't going to help the stupid whelp.

That was the way things worked with Zsasz and his fellow hired knives: a man who falls behind, is left behind. The assassin glanced sideways as more Dothraki galloped into the bazaar. The horsemen pushed their way through, forcing people out of their way.

 _Such an embarrassing failure_ , thought Zsasz. He needs some time to come up with a much better strategy. He'll have to consult with his masters.

The assassin shivered. There were few people in the world who truly made him feel uneasy, and they easily topped his list.

* * *

Night had fallen and the man stumbled through the cold and darkness. He stumbled over tree root, rock and hidden holes in the ground as he tried to reach home. The man didn't know what day it was or how long he has been gone for but it didn't matter.

All he knew was that he had to get back to the Wall, back to his brothers and to tell them of what he had witnessed.

It had seemed like an eternity ago that they had set out on a ranging. Led by Benjen Stark, the small force of rangers and others rode out from the Wall to see what Mance Rayder was plotting. There had been reports of wildings on the move, abandoning their homes and running from something. They had already lost men who had gone out to investigate. The only sensible thing they could do was to go out and look for them.

The man almost laughed at the thought. They went out to search for those who were lost and they themselves ended up lost as well.

Lungs burning and legs aching, the man paused briefly and tried to gain strength but it was hopeless. He was going to die.

Images flashed in his mind of the awful ambush. They came from almost out of nowhere, all pale and terrible. The black brothers fought bravely but it was for naught. One by one, they all fell and Benjen Stark went unaccounted for. The man escaped. He rode half way until his horse died of exhaustion and starvation, so he continued on foot. He then discovered the wound.

Looking down, the man saw the hole that was made during the battle. He could still feel the cold, icy blade run right through his leather and cloak. It was the most excruciating pain he had felt and he had been stabbed before. Those blades were unnatural, that's for sure. They did something to him and he knew it.

He could feel a horrible, cold feeling spreading from his wound. The man forced himself to keep moving. With each step, his legs grew heavier and his mind became foggier. The world around him seemed to be fading into a blur of black shadows and white snow.

He shook his head and kept going.

Time seemed to move by quickly, because he found himself staggering into a grove of familiar trees. The ancient, white trees with blood-red leaves greeted him silently as he stumbled and fell to the ground at the foot of them. In that instant, the man felt the last of his strength fail him. It's over. He was finished. He was so close to home, he could feel it but he was still so far away.

The man managed to roll over onto his back and gaze upward. Up above, a pale moon filtered through the bloody leaves of the weirwood tree he laid under. His heart began to slow and the world grew distant. The man felt the cold, unnatural feeling spread even more through his body but he didn't mind, in fact it almost felt comforting. He spent so long up north that the cold no longer bothered him. In fact, he loved the cold and snow.

The vast, snow covered landscape of the north was pure and fair, unlike the wretched sty that was the south.

The south, the ungrateful masses that think him and the rest of the Night's Watch nothing more than a jape or a silly tale.

But the man found that to the most hilarious jape of them all. All these years, the king and all those lords thought their petty struggles were what mattered and they neglected the Wall, leaving it a place for the condemned and the outcasts. For a time, he thought so to. He came north after losing his beloved Nora to the illness. But, over time, Victor came to see how insignificant those petty little lords were.

The vast expanse of snow blanketed, untamed wild stretched out as far as the eye can see. Hidden within the vast wilderness were things that would make experienced knights soil their armor.

Now, Victor was going to die because of a mummer's tale. The ranger would laugh but he couldn't. His eyes slowly became unfocused and as his eyes closed, he heard the soft crunching of snow. His mind was a haze now and he didn't care anymore. Victor will see his beloved again soon enough and he would avoid the horror of what is coming from the far north, from the Lands of Always Winter.

Before his vision faded to black, a shape appeared and Victor could've sworn that it was…womanly and had beautiful red hair like the leaves of a weirwood tree.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **(a/n: So? What do you think. So, more characters introduced here. We got Captain Boomerang(his last name is Harkness), Katana, Zsasz and Victor Fries. There are more to come.)**

 **Next time: Strange things are brewing in the North, especially at the Wall. Meanwhile, Catelyn Stark journeys to Vale with a prisoner in tow to seek truth regarding Jon Arryn's murder. However, with Catelyn's sister acting erratic, Lady Stark's, and Tyrion's, only hope comes in the form of a young Maester named Jon Crane.)**


	5. Pt 5: Mountain of Madness

**(a/n: Well, here you go! Sorry for the looong wait. Enjoy!)**

* * *

Part 5: Mountain of Madness

The sky over the Giant's Tooth was a dull grey. The clouds sagged heavily with morning rain and the sun illuminated the darkened sky. The moderate sized castle sprouted out of the grey stone of the mountain, which allowed it to over look the town and the long, twisted river a short distance below.

The castle, although not very large like the Red Keep or as ancient as Winterfell, Giant's Tooth was as strong and proud as them both. The old seat of House Wayne received its name from the mountain that it sits under. The mountain rose above the old castle and town, growing narrower until it comes to a point, giving the impression of a lost tooth of a giant creature.

The town they overlooked was a modest fishing village that subsisted on fishing and trade that came from the Blue Spear, which was a small tributary of the Trident River. A cool wind swept through the town, across the river and went skirling up to the Giant's Tooth, where an old man with hard, stony features was scanning the horizon from his balcony.

The old man shivered and drew his cloak around him tightly. For weeks now the long, warm days were waning and were slowly being replaced by shorter, cooler days with longer and even colder nights. Having lived many years in the north, the old man knew what everyone in the North has known for a few weeks now.

Summer is ending and a cold autumn approaching and with it will come an even colder winter.

The old man smiled a little and the words of House Stark came to mind. Winter is coming. Such a simple phrase but it carried a deeper meaning and it always rang true: The fair golden days of summer never last and the people of Westeros need to be ready for the approaching cold.

The words of House Wayne may not be as old or as impressive as House Stark's, but they are equally important for all children of House Wayne to remember as they grow older: _Honor, Strength, Sacrifice._

The man's mind drifted to the current situation at hand. Jon Arryn, the old Hand of the King, is dead and there is tales of a pale lunatic gallivanting around Westeros and slaughtering the innocent. The maester was old and has seen wars, diseases and all sorts of madness that ravaged the continent but something deep in his bones told him that something terrible was coming; something worse than anything the Seven Kingdoms has ever endured before.

Gazing at the stars the previous night didn't help either, not with the odd alignment that reminded him of something he read about years ago when he was at the Citadel.

"Maester Arkham?" said a young girl, tugging on his cloak.

The old man turned his head and saw a very young girl with blood-red hair standing there with an old doll in the crook of her arm.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen Jason?" asked young Katherine.

A warm smile appeared on the maester's craggy face "Not recently I'm afraid. Have you asked Alfred?"

"Yes, but he hasn't seen him either" replied the girl, pouting "Jason was suppose to play with me today but I can't find him."

"I'm sure he'll turn up soon." assured the old man. The small girl pouted and she folded her arms. Maester Arkham's smile widened a little.

Katherine, the youngest child of House Wayne, was very much like her mother, unlike her siblings. Katherine had her mother's hair, her eyes and even her manners at times, while her siblings took after their father. Her brothers and sister wanted to learn how to fight and how to ride, Katherine wanted to be a proper lady much like her dearly departed mother.

"Has my father returned?" asked the girl.

Maester Arkham shook his head "I'm afraid not. He has sent word that he still has business to attend to in the south."

Katherine frowned and let out a little groan. "However…" continued the old man "He has said that he is bringing gifts with him."

"Gifts?"

"Yes, plenty of gifts from the south." The little girl's expression brightened and she grinned with excitement.

"Would you like to see a white raven? It just arrived today from the Citadel." asked the old maester. Katherine nodded and the old man took her by the hand and led her back inside and out of the chilly air.

* * *

Jon and Sam stood before the heart tree in complete silence. Two senior brothers of the watch accompanied the two younger members so that they may keep watch of the new initiates as they take their vows. Jon couldn't believe this day has come. The young bastard had spent the last few weeks going through grueling training drills, exhausting labor and suffering through the sharp words of the master-at-arms, Ser Alliser Thorne.

But today was the day that both he and Sam would make their vows and they would finally be recognized as full brothers of the Watch.

Jon glanced around and wondered where Ghost went but he remembered that his white direwolf had snuck off to do some hunting when they arrived.

"Hurry up and get on with it" growled one of the men accompanying them "I don't want to lose my toes."

"Don't listen to him" said the other man "Take your time lads." The man noticed the death glare he was getting from his friend and frowned "What's wrong Mick? It's a beautiful morning, so cheer up! And we get to witness the induction of two new brothers into the Watch!"

"Shut it Leonard!" grunted the first man "You know I hate the cold"

"Not my fault that you have such poor luck. If fortune had been kinder, you would've stayed on that merchant vessel bound for the Jade Sea"

"Bah!"

Jon tried his best to not smile. The two men, Leonard and Mick, were always good company. Ever since he arrived at the Wall, Jon was treated as if he were the bratty son of a highborn lord. Ser Alliser and some of the others gave him grief about his father being Eddard Stark, calling him "Lord Snow" but Leonard and Mick were different.

They treated him like they would with everyone else. They, like Sam, treated him like a brother and after a bit of time and a bit of humility on Jon's part, others started treating him as they did, except Ser Alliser.

The two men were a mystery to Jon at first. When he first arrived, Jon had mistaken them for willing volunteers, knights who willingly took the black to protect the Wall. From the way they acted and the way others showed them respect, it seemed very likely, but Jon was surprised to learn that the two were in fact criminals.

From what both he and Sam could piece together, Leonard and Mick were notorious thieves. Leonard was very forthcoming in sharing his story but Mick remained silent when questioned. No matter how much anyone prodded, the large man would not divulge what he had done and how he had gotten the numerous burns on his neck and arms.

Whatever he did in the past was the past now. All that mattered was that the two were men of the Night's Watch.

Jon glanced around the snow-blanketed forest. For thousands of miles and among the thousands of towering trees around them there was nothing but silence and snow. A pang of loneliness and longing hit Jon's heart.

He missed Winterfell, he missed Arya, Robb and the others. The young bastard wanted to go home and be with his brothers and sisters but he knew he couldn't go back. Not now, not ever. Fortunately for Jon, he will have a new family. The two decided to make their vows before a heart tree, instead of a sept, but because Castle Black didn't have a godswood, the two had to journey out beyond the Wall to a grove ancient weirwood trees to do so. Fortunately, the Lord Commander sent Mick and Leonard to accompany them.

Jon nodded to Sam and the two took a deep breath and recited the oaths of the Night's Watch. " _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come!"_

Silence fell and swallowed up their words. For a moment, the two young initiates stood in silence, staring at the eerie face on the heart tree, as if expecting a response.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Leonard walked over and clapped the two new brothers of the Watch on the shoulders, grinning "Welcome to the Night's Watch lads!"

"Yes, hooray…" grumbled Mick, drawing his fur cloak tightly around him. Jon smiled and Sam looked ecstatic.

Leonard motioned for his new brothers to follow "Come, let us go and celebrate your new postings!"

"No need for that" said Sam, bashfully "We're just stewards."

"Aye but stewards to Maester Aemon and the Lord Commander!" replied Mick, with a grin "And you know what that means?"

"What?" asked Jon.

"It means that we have an in!" answered Leonard.

Jon and Sam gave the two older men confused looks. "He means that you will soon be in positions of power," explained Mick "Sam has Maester Aemon's ear and Jon could very well be Lord Commander one day."

"That will never happen" scoffed Jon.

Mick and Leonard shook their heads. "In the Night's Watch, the Lord Commander's Steward is usually groomed to be his successor" said Leonard "It has happened a number of time's in the history of the Watch."

"Just you wait," said Mick "Very soon, we will all be calling you Lord Commander Snow". Sam chuckled and Jon felt a sense of dread at that idea. Before Jon could speak and change the subject, he noticed something.

The new member of the Watch saw his direwolf appear from behind a nearby weirwood tree, sniffing around its base. Jon frowned a little. Sam and the others noticed the look on his face and followed his gaze. The four saw Ghost stop beneath the face of the weirwood tree he was sniffing. The wolf backed away and let out a low growl, the fur on his back rising.

The four brothers of the Night's Watch looked on in interest as Ghost begin pawing at the snow at the base of the tree. Small clumps of snow fell away, revealing a bit of black clothing. Jon and the others shared a shocked look and rushed over. Ghost got out of their way as Jon, Sam, Mick and Leonard dug away the at the snow, until they found something that made their blood run cold.

"By the Gods" breathed Sam in shock.

"Son of a…" murmured Mick.

The four men of the Watch gazed down at the body of a friend and brother of the Watch lying half buried in the snow.

That man was a well-known ranger named Victor.

Jon remembered Victor. He was a rather quiet and solitary man. He didn't interact that much with others in the Watch, except for maybe Mick and Leonard. Although he was quiet and kept to himself, Jon knew that Victor was a well-respected man. It was probably why he was selected to go ranging with Jon's uncle, Benjen Stark. Sam stared at Victor's pale, motionless form in horror.

Jon figured that it was Sam's first time seeing a dead man. Then again, this was also the first time Jon has ever seen a dead man. Mick and Leonard inspected Victor's body. "Looks like he was pierced with a blade of sorts right here" observed Leonard, pointing toward the hole in Victor's tunic and the huge dark bloodstain that surrounded it. "Here too" added Mick, pointing towards the hole in Victor's tunic where his heart was.

"Probably ambushed by wildlings" murmured Leonard. Mick nodded in agreement.

Ghost trotted away from Victor's body and stopped a short distance away. Mick trudged over and sifted through the snow. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder "Two more bodies"

"Seven hells…" cursed Leonard, scratching his chin.

"He was with my uncle Benjen" said Jon, emotionless. A cold sense of dread crawled its way up from the pit of Jon's stomach. Thoughts of Uncle Benjen lying dead in some barren, icy field began to flood the young man's mind but he quickly pushed them aside.

Leonard nodded "Indeed he was but Benjen is a very skilled ranger, he can handle himself. I'm sure he's fine." Jon nodded but he didn't believe Leonard, and judging from the look in the thief's eye, neither did he. Leonard turned to go and assist Mick but he stopped when Sam spoke up.

"Uh…Jon, Leonard… i-it's V-Victor h-he's…" Leonard and Jon looked and they both looked astonished. Victor's body shifted a little and his eyes fluttered open, slowly breaking off the frost and ice that covered his eyes. Icy blue eyes greeted the four crows and looked about in confusion.

"By the gods…" murmured Leonard. He rushed over to Victor and knelt down.

Victor groaned and forced himself up a little. He looked around at the four black brothers who were staring down at him in shock "L-Leonard? W-where…" he paused then he heaved out a few more words "Leonard…they…they are coming. They're coming…" Without warning, Victor's eyes closed and he fell over, unconscious.

For a moment, nobody said a word. Needless to say, all four crows were confused at what just happened but they all felt a terrible pall descend upon the silent forest.

* * *

Catelyn Stark stood alone in the throne room, gazing out a window as pale morning light filtered through the clouds, illuminating the cold insides of the Eyrie. The ancient seat of House Arryn was perched upon a staggeringly high mountain peak that commanded a majestic view of the Vale below. Patches of farmsteads, glistening ribbons of water and stretches of forest spread out as far as Catelyn could see.

It was strange. The Vale was calm and peaceful, protected by the powerful natural mountain range which surrounds them, and the Bloody Gate, which repelled many an invasion. Yet, just beyond the safety and security of the Vale there was something stirring, Catelyn could feel it. Something awful was brewing and she was stumbling blindly through it.

The beginning of their troubles was the strange death of Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King and Lord of the Vale, then there was the bizarre message from Lysa, Catelyn's sister, accusing the Lannister's of treachery and lastly was the attempt on Bran's life at Winterfell. The more Lady Stark thought about it, nothing seemed to make sense. At first it seemed like Jon died of natural causes for a man of his age.

However, after the attempt on her son's life, Catelyn decided to take her sister's warning more seriously. With the dragon bone hilt dagger that the would-be assassin tried to use on Bran, Catelyn searched for answers and was directed towards the owner of the dagger: Tyrion Lannister.

The gods seemed to have smiled upon her, for as she journeyed back to Winterfell, she discovered him at an inn that she was to spend the night in. They noticed each other and she called upon the men there who had sworn oaths to serve both the Starks and Tullys and seized the impish Lannister. At that moment, Catelyn was sure that she caught the mastermind behind her son's assassination attempt but now she's not so sure.

The journey through the Mountains of the Moon was rigorous and some men of the tribes living in the mountains had ambushed them. Several good men died and they slain a number of their attackers. It was a harrowing ordeal, but what truly shook Catelyn was the fact that Tyrion Lannister, her prisoner, saved her life. They arrived at the Eyrie late a few nights ago, after a long and arduous climb up the mountain to reach the castle.

Catelyn's escort was given food and some rooms to rest in, while Tyrion was confined to one of the Eyrie's infamous sky cells.

When they arrived, Catelyn expected a warm reception and some cooperation; instead she was met with suspicious looks and some hostility. Lysa greeted her in the solar with some of her house guards when she arrived but once the guards were dismissed, the warmth and civility vanished and Lysa demanded to know why her sister had come unannounced and with one of her enemies. Catelyn tried her best to explain but her sister seemed to not heed her words.

It struck the older Tully how much her sister had changed. Although Lysa was her younger sister, the once young and smiling girl now looked twice her age and drained of happiness and vitality. Catelyn tried to plead her case. Instead, the younger Tully silenced her at every turn and rambled about how she miraculously escaped King's Landing and managed to keep her precious child out of the vile Lannister's reach.

Catelyn could do nothing but listen to her little sister and her ramblings. She occasionally added some words but still, nothing seemed to be working. However, something strange came up. Among the rapid near mad stream of words that escaped her sister's mouth, Catelyn heard Lysa say "-and that horrid phantom haunts me still"

Catelyn looked up at her sister "What?" Lysa stopped and she hesitated to speak for a few moments.

Finally, the younger Tully barked a command and a taller, slender young man in grey robes entered the solar. Lysa introduced the young man as Maester Crane and that he would show Catelyn where she will be spending the night. Catelyn was surprised to see a young maester, especially one who looked old enough to be her son. Stranger still, the young man looked familiar.

Without another word, Lysa departed and Catelyn was left alone with the young maester. The young maester led her to her room and Catelyn, overcome with exhaustion and frustration, fell fast asleep.

The next morning was just as successful as the night before.

Lysa refused to listen to reason and ended their meeting early and scurried off and wasn't seen since. This morning, Lysa seemed to have her mind fixated on exacting horrible revenge against the imp without even getting the truth from him about what happened to Jon Arryn or Bran. During the meeting, the young maester stood in the shadows behind the throne watching carefully and only spoke when allowed.

From their brief encounters, Catelyn was able to judge that Maester Crane was certainly worthy of the title of maester. The young man's speech was soft, measured and precise like a scholar. The maester chain around his neck was similar to Maester Luwin's, although it was shorter by a few links and there were a few links that Catelyn wasn't familiar with. One of the links in particular was made of a metal that was dark, dull and looked like petrified smoke. She tried to question him directly and get some answers but Lysa blocked Catelyn at every pass.

However, once Lysa had dismissed their last meeting and scurried off, Catelyn managed to speak with Maester Crane and arrange for them to speak alone in the throne room the next morning.

Footsteps shook Catelyn free of her reverie. She looked and saw Maester Crane walk into the throne room. The young man was still dressed in flowing grey robes. His raven black hair was ruffled and his pale face remained placid like an undisturbed lake.

Catelyn greeted the young man "Thank you for meeting with me."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Stark," replied the young maester "I hope you are enjoying your stay here in the Eyrie."

"I am, though I had hoped the reception would be a little warmer".

The young maester nodded slowly "Indeed. When we received word from the Bloody Gate of your arrival, I had hoped Lady Lysa would be overjoyed to see you. But alas, it seems this dreary gloom has only deepened."

Catelyn frowned "Gloom?"

"Yes. A terrible gloom has fallen upon the Eyrie and upon Lady Lysa. Ever since Lord Arryn's passing and Lady Lysa's escape from King's Landing, she hasn't been the same." Catelyn nodded in agreement. Lysa had once smiled more freely and would've welcomed her with open arms but now; it was as if she was a complete stranger.

"Why is she like this? What could've changed my sister in such a way?" asked Catelyn.

Maester Crane frowned a little "From what I have seen, the death of her dear husband would be a central cause. Her lord husband loved her and she him. His death came as a horrible blow to everyone, Lady Lysa included. The issue with the Lannisters has only made it worse."

"Issue?"

"Yes. May I speak freely, my lady?"

Catelyn nodded.

"Lord Arryn felt that his wife was a little too…smothering" explained the maester "In order for the boy to learn the ways of court and to strengthen relationships with a major house, he felt that he should become a ward. To whom I believe it was Lord Tywin Lannister."

Catelyn raised an eyebrow "I see"

"Lady Lysa eventually acquiesced. However it never came to fruition, what with Lord Arryn's sudden passing."

Catelyn nodded slowly, absorbing this information. So Jon Arryn and Lysa were going to send their son to be a ward in the west with the Lannisters. It was an intelligent move. Their meek little boy would help mend some frayed relations between the Iron Throne and the wealthy house and it could do the boy some good to be children close to his age.

Catelyn couldn't blame her sister at being hesitant. She didn't trust the Lannisters that much either. The golden lions were the ones who took King's Landing through treachery and through said treachery slain the Mad King. Catelyn remembered the reason why she came to the Vale and asked the maester.

"Do you know who may have murdered Jon Arryn? My sister sent me a message and accused the Lannisters."

Maester Crane scratched his chin "I am afraid that I don't know. I was here in the Eyrie attending to some matters that required my care. I was to join Lady Lysa and her husband but by the time I had completed my required duties, Lady Lysa returned and was in an uproar."

Catelyn frowned deeply. No such luck. She had hoped that the young maester would have some answers but it appeared that he didn't.

However, Maester Crane continued "However, I did receive a few peculiar letters from Lord Arryn before his untimely death."

"You did?" Catelyn felt a bit of hope rising within her.

The young maester nodded "Lord Arryn had asked for my counsel on a few items that he was researching, which was an old legend that I am not very familiar with."

"What legend?"

"A legend pertaining to a figure from the Age of Heroes. I believe it was in the _Blood Crown Cycles_ or some other obscure tome. The figure was called 'The Kingmaker' or some such name".

Catelyn frowned. The Kingmaker. That name sounded familiar. Catelyn grew up listening to her mother tell her numerous old stories and hearing songs of great battles and heroes from Lysa. This one she didn't remember very well. It was like trying to remember a half forgotten dream.

"I am not very well versed with tales but I did what I could and responded to the few ravens he sent to me" explained Maester Crane "After a few weeks of correspondence, the ravens just stopped. His last raven to me bore a rather brief thanks and some odd words"

"What were they?"

The young maester thought for a few moments then said in a soft and ominous voice "I have found it. It has been before our eyes the whole time. Should I fall, remember this...the seed is strong."

An eerie silence fell on them. Catelyn felt an odd chill crawl up her spine. Those words are indeed odd but they were Jon Arryn's last words. The seed was strong? What could that possibly mean? Catelyn had questions before but now she was filled with even more of them.

"What could he possibly mean by that? The seed is strong?" Catelyn wondered aloud.

Maester Crane shrugged "I don't know. Lady Lysa believes that it was referring to her son and his health. However…" the young man trailed off and fell silent.

Catelyn gave him a look. "However?" tried Lady Stark.

The young maester hesitated for a moment then said finished his sentence "However, I believe that is not the case. I believe that Lord Arryn was referring to something else."

"What could he be referring to?" Maester Crane shrugged again.

Catelyn sighed. She was hoping for more, but it she was relieved that there was someone else who believed that Jon Arryn's death was strange. A thought came to her mind. "Maester Crane, my sister mentioned something about a phantom."

Maester Crane visibly winced and he let out a small sigh. "Yes, the phantom…I was wondering when you would mention it." He stopped and considered his words carefully then spoke, "You sister, Lady Lysa…I fear for her. Ever since Lord Arryn's death, she hasn't been the same."

"I suppose it may be the gloom as you mentioned".

The maester shook his head "It's not just the gloom." Catelyn gave him a look "Oh?"

"Aye. Gloom is a rather gentle name for it. I'm afraid that there's something else that is affecting poor Lady Lysa. I know grief when I see it and this is not it, my lady. If I were to be completely honest with my observation, I would have to say that she is…afraid. Something has made her afraid and it is twisting her up inside. Whatever it is, this fear is manifesting itself in the form of a terrible shade."

Catelyn frowned deeply. Fear. What could Lysa be afraid of? Could it be the murderers who killed her husband? "How do you know of these things?"

"Lady Lysa has terrible night terrors. For the past week she's been having horrid nightmares and has demanded that I give her a sleeping draught. It has helped but every other night the nightmares would return and she awakes screaming."

Catelyn was taken aback. That sounded dreadful. Lysa was never like this. If Maester Crane was truthful, than Lysa was certainly being plagued by something. "These nightmares, what are they about?" asked Catelyn.

"Lannisters, every night it is an army of Lannisters or some hired knives in the service of the Lannisters invading the castle and killing her in her bed. The most recent one was of a...scarecrow."

Catelyn was intrigued and a little disturbed. Lysa was certainly disturbed about something and the Lannisters seem to be at the center of the problem. It seemed likely that the Lannisters may be the root of all this murder and intrigue. But the last nightmare, a scarecrow? What could that mean?

It was then that Catelyn began to notice how haggard the young man looked. The young maester's face looked unnaturally pale and she could see dark circles under his eyes.

"By the seven" murmured Catelyn, astonished.

Maester Crane nodded slowly "I tried to assuage her fears but she refuses to see reason. The household guard has been doubled and her room is guarded night and day by several of her best men and yet she still is as comfortable as a hunted rabbit. The other lords of the Vale have only made the problem worse. All of them offered their services, or the services of their sons, to serve as her guards to catch these shadowy assassins and hopefully impress her. This phantom business was merely a trick of some shadows and a poor startled serving boy who ended up tumbling off a balcony and to his death".

Catelyn's eyes widened in shock "Oh my…" "It is madness, absolute madness. She is-" The maester stopped and he realized what he had said and what he was about to say. He made a bow "Forgive me, Lady Catelyn, I spoke out of turn. I-I forgot my place."

"No, it is alright" said Catelyn, sincerely "I thank you for your honesty. I am glad to finally have someone speak truthfully. As of late, no matter where I turn, I find nothing but questions, riddles and deceit".

A faint smile tugged at the young man's lips. "I am sorry if I haven't been of much help. But I swear to you, my lady, if there is anything you need of me you need only ask."

"Thank you, Maester Crane". Catelyn paused "Crane? That name is familiar to me. Where are you from, maester?"

"Normally maesters don't discuss such matters. But, since you are the first bit of civilized company I have had in many months, it pleases me to tell you my lady that I was born and raised in the North, though my ancestors and my distant cousins are of Highgarden."

"Do you have any relations to a Ser Stephen Crane of the Blue Spear?"

The young maester's chest puffed up a little "My father, an honorable knight and a sworn sword of Lord Wayne".

Of course! Catelyn now remembers the Cranes. Stephen Crane was a knight who served under Lord Thomas Wayne, a bannerman of her husband. Stephen was a thin, pale man who always had a calm look on his face. He was a skilled swordsman but he fell in battle during Robert's Rebellion. She can easily see the resemblance between the young man and his father.

"It is an honor to meet the son of a renowned knight," said Catelyn "Your father saved my husband's life during Robert's Rebellion."

"Indeed" said Maester Crane, his face glowing with pride "It is an honor to meet you as well Lady Catelyn." Catelyn smiled and she suddenly remembered the dagger.

"Maester Crane, I have a question concerning weapons". She drew the dagger and held it out in front of the young maester "What can you tell me of this weapon. It belonged to the Lannister imp. He tried to murder my son with it."

Maester Crane looked at the dagger and his eyebrows rose a little. "A pretty weapon" he murmured. He accepted the dagger and he inspected it closely. After a few moments, he handed the weapon back to Catelyn.

"I am not sure what I can tell you" said Maester Crane "Other than that the dagger is made of a fine piece of Valyrian Steel and dragon bone, I have not an inkling of who would have owned it."

"I need to know if this weapon belongs to Tyrion Lannister" said Catelyn "And why he sent an assassin after my son."

Maester Crane cocked an eyebrow "Why indeed. Tyrion Lannister does not strike me as a man who would murder a child"

"He is a Lannister, they are capable of all manner of evil" said Catelyn, bitterly.

"Indeed. I am aware of all the awful things that ghastly House has done in its long history. But of all the things that I know of Tyrion Lannister is that he is very different from his siblings. This reeks of the other two."

Catelyn wanted to correct the young maester but stopped. She slowly began to realize that he might be right. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, was notorious for his betrayal of the king he swore to protect and his sister, Cersei, seemed very dangerous to Catelyn as well. Petyr Baelish did confirm that the dagger belonged to a Lannister, Tyrion to be precise. But if the dwarf were the master of the assassin who tried to kill Bran, why would he save her life when the tribesmen of the mountain attacked them on the road. Could his siblings be behind this?

"I can investigate this further" said Maester Crane "There is a maester I know who know's weaponry very well, he may have some answers. I will inform you of what I have discovered. In the meantime, try and enjoy your stay here in the Eyrie."

Catelyn smiled and gave him sincere thanks. He bowed and then departed.

Once he was gone, Catelyn felt alone and soon an odd sensation slowly slithered up her spine. She felt as if that she was not alone and that she was being observed. She shivered and began to see why Lysa was acting strangely. This cold, isolated castle was enough to drive anyone to madness and paranoia.

Catelyn considered what the young maester had told her and began to pity the poor boy. Lysa was twisted by grief and fear, her bannermen were only stoking the flames of hysteria and it would appear that the young man was a lone sane voice on a mountain of madness.

* * *

Tyrion sat up when he heard the door open. Mord, the thuggish jailer, stood aside and allowed in a tall, thin young man garbed in maester grey. The young man was carrying in a plate of steaming hot sausages, eggs and a cup of water. Tyrion was surprised to see that they were bringing him food.

Judging from Lady Lysa Arryn's reaction to his appearance, he was almost certain that she was going to let him starve to death in the freezing sky cells.

The maester told Mord to wait by the door. The burly jailer grunted and stepped outside and closed the door. The young man offered the plate to Tyrion and he accepted it. For a few moments, he eyed the food suspiciously and tapped it with the fork gingerly as if to see if the food were alive. Finally, hunger overcame him and he began to down the eggs and sausages.

It had been a few days but it felt much longer to Tyrion. The sky cells were like a normal dungeon cell, only there was a wall missing and in its place was nothing but the cold windy skies of the Vale. Tyrion tried to sleep but the floors were built at a slight angle and if he wasn't careful, he would roll all the way to oblivion.

From his time in the cell, Tyrion found no possible method of escape, except the door and Mord guarded the door with excellent vigilance and would occasionally came in and struck Tyrion a few times with his club.

A maester carrying a plate of food was a welcomed relief to the imprisoned Lannister.

In between mouthfuls, Tyrion asked, "So…whom do I have to thank for this generosity?"

"You have me to thank," said the young man with a warm smile "I am Maester Crane, it is an honor to meet you Tyrion Lannister"

"And it is an honor for me to meet a maester as young as you" replied Tyrion "A young man with a chain like yours must be a quick learner"

"one of the quickest."

Tyrion was indeed surprised. Most maesters he encountered were usually wrinkly old men with long and heavy chains. Seeing a maester this young was a real wonder.

"Tell me, what have I done to deserve such a delicious breakfast?"

The maester continued to smile "Nothing. I thought that even though we may be on opposite sides, we shouldn't cast aside civility and hospitality."

Tyrion nodded slowly "Yes, and you do know what will happen if you do not promptly release me?"

"Oh yes, I certainly do. In fact, your brother and sister are beginning to realize that you have been…waylaid."

"So you will release me and give me a horse and an escort to take me back to the King's road?"

"I'm afraid that I can't do that my lord. That is beyond my abilities. That is for Lady Lysa to decide."

Tyrion fought back the urge to groan. There was little chance at that. Lysa Arryn and her little runt of a son were more than likely to toss him out of through Moon Door than let him go free, unless he confess to a crime he did not do.

Probably noticing the disappointed look on Tyrion's face, Maester Crane continued. "However, I believe I may be of some help"

"Oh and how so?"

"Lady Catelyn wishes to know if you attempted to kill her son."

"I did not try to kill her son!"

"And I believe you."

Tyrion frowned "You do?"

"Yes. I know of all the things that your family has done and I also understand what a man has to do in order to survive these trivial political games but I believe that you did not send that assassin."

Tyrion stared at him in suspicion. Something about this maester seemed strange. He could tell that this young man had something in mind but was doing a good job of hiding it. The dwarf didn't fully trust this young man, in fact he hardly trusts anyone he doesn't know but so far, this boy seemed to be the only intelligent and logical being in the entire Vale. Everyone else was dim and afraid of some shadows, thus making him Tyrion's only hope.

The two sat in the sky cell together for a few long moments. Both were sitting with their backs towards the solid wall and stared out at the vast, blue horizon that stretched out before them. As the two sat there and stared out at the blue beyond, Tyrion thought of a question.

"Why do you believe me?" asked the dwarf "For all you know, I could have sent that assassin after Bran Stark. For all you know, I could've killed Jon Arryn."

Maester Crane smiled at that like he was smiling at a hilarious jape.

Tyrion frowned at him "What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, that I know for a fact that you didn't send that hired knife" said the maester calmly "A man as clever as you would not have sent someone to kill an enemy with a weapon that can easily lead anyone with half a brain back to you. It makes no sense for you to kill an innocent crippled boy, at least not without cause."

Tyrion nodded in agreement. The young maester reached down at his chain and held up a certain link for Tyrion to see. The metal was dark, dull and resembled petrified smoke. "This chain is a marker for a rather new field of study" explained Maester Crane "It is something of my own making. I specialize in the study of the mind."

"The mind?" echoed Tyrion, curious.

The young man nodded "Yes. Ever since the Mad King, the mind has been an intricate mystery. What is it that makes a man? What motivates him? What makes men act as they do? How do they go mad and is there a cure? What do men fear? I dedicated my studies at the Citadel to learning what makes a man and…here I am."

Tyrion slowly absorbed what the young man was saying. Studying a man's mind? That sounded very fascinating. If he weren't in this predicament, Tyrion would've ordered some wine and asked to hear more from this young maester but perhaps another time.

"Why are you telling me this?" asked Tyrion.

Maester Crane shrugged "I felt that I was going to tell someone eventually and I thought, why not someone as intelligent as Tyrion Lannister. Anyway, it didn't take me long to put some of the pieces together. You are innocent."

"And I should go free" added Tyrion.

The maester nodded "Yes." Something seemed to have appeared in the young maester's mind because a giddy look appeared on his gaunt face.

"I believe that I have an idea that can be of benefit to both of us," said the young man.

* * *

Jon, Sam and Leonard sat together at a bench in the common room at Castle Black, watching Mick carefully.

The day had already changed into night and most of the crows were eating an evening meal. It had been some time until the Old Bear, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, and a few men from the Wall to arrive and cart the bodies off back to Castle Black.

Once they saw Victor among the dead, a number of men murmured in shock and paid their respects.

Mick tried his best to wake Victor, hoping that he was still alive and Maester Aemon tried to treat the mostly frozen man but it was all in vain. Victor was gone.

Mick stormed off in a silent rage and nobody stopped him. After he had left, Sam noticed that there was something strange about the frozen bodies and it was then that they all realized what it was. First, the bodies didn't smell of rot or anything like a normal corpse. Second, the bodies didn't have anything that indicated that wolves or shadowcats had taken a bite out of them. All the bodies were untouched, except for the stab wounds and strangely enough, the wounds didn't bleed or let out any blood like a normal wound.

The Lord Commander decided to heed Sam's counsel and lock the bodies in a storage room at the bottom of the Lord Commander's tower until the next morning when they will bury the bodies and have the sun at its highest to warm them.

For the rest of the day, Mick was silent and kept to himself until he eventually joined them for dinner. Jon watched as Mick sitting there and staring down at his steaming bowl of broth blankly.

Leonard told Jon and Sam to let Mick be because he was angry about Victor's death. In the past, Victor had saved Mick's life and the burned thief owed him a debt of gratitude. Unfortunately, Mick is now unable to repay his friend's kind act now that he's gone.

As they quietly ate their hot meals, Mick finally spoke. His voice was soft but the tone was sharp enough to cut stone.

"If I ever see a wildling, I will tear their heads off with my bare hands".

Sam looked a little green at the thought of someone having to face a large and furious man like Mick in battle. Jon was about to say something but he suddenly remembered that he had to take the Old Bear's dinner up to him. The new steward scrambled out of his seat and scurried off to accomplish his task.

Leonard, Sam and Mick ate in silence and eventually went off to do their duties; Sam went to tend to Maester Aemon, Leonard had to go man one section of the Wall with few men and Mick went to get some sleep before he took the early morning watch.

Mick walked alone in the dark, silent yard alone. The moon hid behind a wall of thick, grey clouds. Several other brothers walked by, heading off to eat dinner. Though it was a cold and miserable evening, there were some in good spirits and were chattering and laughing about something that Mick didn't care about.

He was not in the mood for anything. He just wanted to get some sleep and get on with life but he stopped when he saw a shape standing in the shade of some scaffolding. The burned thief stopped and faced the shape. He scowled and started walking towards the shape. Every once in a while, there was always some green boy from the south who likes to gawk at him or some idiot who thought he was tough enough to pick a fight with him.

Mick usually gives them a light beating and sends them on their way, but not tonight. Tonight, Mick was angry and he needed something to beat into the ground. Before he reached the figure, the figure stepped from out of the shadows and into the torchlight.

Mick stopped. His eyes widened and he immediately became confused and, for the first time in many years, felt afraid.

"Victor?" whispered Mick in astonishment.

Victor, the fallen ranger, stood there in his ice crusted clothing, looking confused.

"Mick?" said the ranger, looking around at the empty yard "W-what am I doing here? How did I get here?"

Mick shrugged "I-I don't know. You tell me, you were the one who died."

Victor's icy blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark and the torchlight. The ice crusted ranger gave him a strange look "What?"

Suddenly the chiming of bells began to sound, echoing through the night and the smell of fire filled the air. Mick spun around and saw that the Lord Commander's tower was ablaze like a torch. The burned thief's eyebrows rose "This day is full of surprises."

* * *

Lysa curled up in bed, drawing her blankets around her tightly in a futile attempt to feel safe and secure. Her servants had tended to her and left her alone. Although there were two guards standing by the door and the corridors patrolled by the rest of the household guards, Lysa still felt naked and unsafe.

The ruler of the Vale always dreaded the night. The morning was safe and the sunlight banished that awful demon. But when the sun had set, the demon always returns without fail. No matter how many guards she had posted, no matter how strong or skilled those men may be, that demon always outwitted them and always slipped through their fingers like smoke.

Lysa pushed her frantic thoughts down and assured herself that she was safe. She had her guards, the walls of the Eyrie, the Houses of the Vale and, most importantly, Maester Crane to protect her. Maester Crane had been a gift from the Seven. House Arryn's old maester had passed away in the night and her husband sent for a new one. The Citadel sent the young man and he had been a great boon for House Arryn. His advice and his draught have helped her through many a crisis. He was trustworthy and reliable.

Lysa turned over and almost drifted off into the arms of sleep when suddenly a sweet, familiar smell filled her senses. Her eyes snapped open. It smelled of blossoms. "Oh no" whimpered the ruler of the Vale.

"oh yes" hissed the demon.

In the corer of her eye, Lysa could see him. Standing at the foot of her bed, slender and inhumanly tall. Garbed in tattered rags and stitched up cloth, the terrible apparition stood there and stared down at her like a vengeful god.

"Please...please" wept Lysa.

"Oh my dear lady, don't cry." soothed the demon "Dry those tears." he glided around the bed and he knelt down by her side. A long, metallic claw reached out and gently brushed away her tear without cutting her cheek. Lysa's body shuddered uncontrollably.

She closed her eyes, hoping and praying that this was just a dream. Her heart raced like a galloping horse that was threatening to burst out of her chest. When she opened her eyes, she was faced with a horrible truth.

This wasn't a dream.

She was staring at the demon's horrible face; old sackcloth covered in all over by stitches with squirming little maggots wriggled through hundreds of little holes and eyes that glowed and blazed like wildfire.

"Now then" said the scarecrow, a dozen maggots and black goo dribbled from his mouth.

His voice soft like silk but it carried a hidden edge that made Lysa flinch "You and I need to have a little talk."

End of Chapter.

* * *

 **(a/n: So, what do you think? Please review! This would've been up faster but i have been very busy lately and didn't have the chance to do this.)**

 **Next time: As Ned Stark investigates what the previous Hand of the King had been investigating, he encounter's an alluring woman named Selina. In Vaes Dothrak, things don't go overly well for Viserys and the Laughing Prince is on the move once again.**


	6. Pt 6: Cats & Crowns

**(a/n: sorry for the wait. Enjoy!)**

* * *

Part 6: Cats & Crowns

Lord Bruce Wayne arrived at the Giant's Tooth late in the night. The guard's stationed at the gates mistook him for a stranger but immediately recognized their lord when he barked at them, angrily ordering them to open the gates.

Lord Wayne trotted into the courtyard of the castle alone. He dismounted, grabbed his satchel and handed the reins to a bleary eyed stable boy, who just stumbled out of bed a few minutes earlier. Bruce marched up the stairs and after inquiring a few of the servants that were still awake, went straight for the library in search of Alfred.

At the library, Bruce found his family's loyal retainer reading to his daughter Katherine. The tired lord paused in the doorway and watched as the scene unfolded before him. "…The ensuing battle lasted seven days and nights. For days, the two mighty armies clashed. They fought through the heat of the day and well through the night, continually watering the land with their blood until finally all that remained of either army were their leaders: the Kingmaker and the Iron Queen."

Katherine sat across from Alfred in a chair, completely entranced by the story. In the fireplace, a small fire chewed away what little bit of firewood that remained and provided enough light to read in.

A small, bitter smile appeared on Bruce's face. _If only life were like the stories and songs_ thought Bruce, sadly.

Katherine was like Bruce when he was her age. He too once had thought the world was like the stories, filled with heroes and villains, honor and justice. Unfortunately, that sweet summer dream was shattered on that terrible night long ago. Bruce could still see that night in his dreams; the long, winding road back to the Giant's Tooth from the tourney at Harrenhal, the howling wind and those bandits. The screams still echoed through his memories.

Bruce clenched his fist and silenced those old memories. He may have failed his mother and father but Bruce knows that there's a lot he can do now for the Seven Kingdoms and Katherine. At first Bruce had considered leaving his title and lands to become a sellsword and go searching for the bastards who killed his parents.

Fortunately, Alfred was there and managed to convince him to remain in the Seven Kingdoms and use his skills and his resources in a more constructive way, but not before he took a two and a half year long journey that carried him all over Westeros and a good quarter of Essos. Another bit of good fortune was that Aunt Agatha and her brother, Phillip, managed most of the affairs of House Wayne while he was gone but when he returned, Bruce assumed his place as head of the House.

No matter the occasion, Bruce always thanked the gods for Alfred, Agatha and Phillip. Alfred has served House Wayne faithfully for many years and is now serving Bruce and his children with the same diligence he showed to Bruce's father.

Alfred concluded the tale, his voice soft and velvety "and thus the Kingmaker stood triumphant over the Iron Queen at the Battle of Blood Fields. It was there he built a mighty castle and reigned until his dying day."

The elderly man closed the book and, noticing Katherine's lord father, gently spoke "And now, it is time for you to go to sleep Lady Katherine."

"But I don't want to go to sleep," complained Katherine with a pout "I want another story."

"Perhaps another time" said Bruce, stepping into the library. Katherine, overjoyed at the sight of her father, jumped out of her seat and ran to him. Bruce took his youngest child into his arms and pulled her into warm embrace. "Father!" cried Katherine.

"Katherine!" chuckled Bruce. After the embrace, he looked at his daughter and asked "What are you doing up so late?"

"I wanted to hear a story," said the young girl "You know that I can't sleep until I have heard a story."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow "Is that so?"

Katherine grinned sheepishly "Er, well…"

"I treated her with a story, my lord," Alfred added, "However, one story turned into two, which in then turned into more."

Bruce let out a small laugh. Katherine apologized and asked her father if she could stay up with him and hear of his journey, but her father refused. Noting how tired she looked and how much she yawned, Bruce carried her to her room and tucked her into bed. As soon as she touched her bed, Katherine instantly drifted off to sleep. Bruce gave her a kiss goodnight and returned to the library, where Alfred remained, tidying up some papers and books that were left lying out on a table.

When Bruce returned, Alfred remarked that his children were becoming fine ladies and young men, although Damien was still skipping some of his lessons with Maester Arkham, Cassandra was still having difficulties with her needling and Jason was busy thinking about that girl from the Reach he met at the tourney at King's Landing a year before. Bruce smiled and merely shrugged it off as the follies of youth and advised Alfred to speak with Agatha about Cassandra.

After some light banter, Alfred then made the sign that indicated that it was safe to speak more freely.

"Pleasant journey I take it, Master Wayne?" asked Alfred.

Bruce sank into the chair Katherine used and sighed deeply. "You could say that," replied the weary lord

"Do tell."

"Matters are growing ever more interesting in the south" explained Lord Wayne "I encountered our old friend at the tourney, which I am sure the children have told you in great detail."

"They have and I am surprised that the tourney had ended with so few a casualty as it did"

Bruce nodded "Indeed, had I not interfered I'm afraid that there would have been more death than the one."

Alfred nodded "A shame about Ser Hugh though, I heard he squired for Lord Arryn or one of his men."

"He did indeed and that only seems to confirm my suspicions about what is happening in King's Landing."

It would surprise most outside observers at how candid the conversation was being conducted between the servant and his lord, but Lord Wayne and Alfred have known each other for so long, they consider each other family and can be as candid as they want. Bruce's upbringing also contributed to this close relationship. Growing up to be a lord and a bannerman of a great house like House Stark, Bruce had come to rely on Alfred as a councilor, a father figure and a reliable friend.

Before the tragedy that befell House Wayne, Lord Thomas Wayne had a good amount of friends and allies that swore profusely that they would assist the Wayne family no matter what. However, after the death of Lord Thomas and his wife and his return from his journey, Bruce grew reclusive and suspicious of the world around him, having seen the true nature of the lords and ladies the Waynes once called friend. Once warm and loyal, their sweet words stopped and their true selves began to show. They coveted what little land Bruce inherited and tried to play games with the young lord. Some even tried to forcibly take the Giant's Tooth and wrest from him the Wayne's land by force, but thankfully, Bruce heeded Alfred's warnings and had help from his uncle. Bruce displayed that he wasn't a weak, foolish boy that they can manipulate.

The whole situation would've proven to be deadly had it not been for Alfred's council and the support of his uncle, before he took the black.

Alfred wasn't a nobleman and had proven where his true allegiance lay time and again. He is an integral part of House Wayne and Bruce can hardly imagine what would happen if he had not been a in the service of Bruce's parents. Now that Bruce was now a grown man and a recognized lord, he decided to look at things from every vantage point, even from the point of view of a commoner. With the recent happenings at King's Landing and around the kingdoms, Bruce needed another set of eyes to help him navigate the murky waters of court.

"Yes, the death of Lord Arryn" said Alfred, slowly "I seem to recall that you believe that he was murdered."

"It would appear that my hunch was correct" replied Bruce, coolly. He turned his gaze to the crackling fire. "Our friend seems to know a thing or two of this conspiracy."

"Did you try to extract the answers from him in the usual manner?"

"Of course, but I did not need to. He was all too willing to share."

"And?" pressed Alfred.

Bruce shook his head "You would not believe me. I am having a hard time believing it myself, but it does make sense and the names do confirm my suspicions. It does fit some of the clues I have uncovered. Unfortunately, he did not know the answer to one key question."

"The Kingmaker?" guessed Alfred.

Bruce nodded "Yes, the Kingmaker, the fabled warrior king from the Age of Heroes. What does a story have to do with the murder of Jon Arryn?"

"It certainly is a perplexing quandary, my lord."

Bruce shook his head. Jon Arryn was a good man, though he was blinded by his high sense of honor. He failed to see that he sat in a den of vipers and lions, all too willing to stab him in the back when given the chance. King's Landing was truly an awful city. A filthy sty filled with poverty, crime and a long history of evil. Bruce had spent some time in King's Landing, both as a noble and as a nameless young man, and hated every moment of it.

Despite the filth, there were a few things in King's Landing that were worth visiting. King Robert was good company, though Bruce wasn't always in the mood for the king's crass antics or his court. There was also the woman. Her face came to mind and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. He wondered if she was still in King's Landing, in that crowded little house.

Bruce also remembered that surly man from Flea Bottom who he shared an adventure with once. It was rather amazing to hear that he was now a nobleman with his own land and title, though he is more recognized by a different title, which was used more as a jest by various petty lords in order to demean him but Bruce was proud of the man and was glad to call the Onion Knight his friend.

"I am not sure what the Kingmaker has to do with all this commotion," said Alfred, scratching his chin thoughtfully "but according to Maester Arkham, the Kingmaker was not only a name of the great warrior of old, but it was also a title a few times by various warlords through the succeeding ages as a tribute to him. Some of the more detailed accounts we have on record show the name of the Kingmaker was last used in the Blackfyre Rebellion and the Dance of Dragons."

Bruce frowned. It seemed rather coincidental that the name of a cunning warlord appeared in two of the worst wars Westeros has seen in the last few hundred years. But Bruce didn't believe in coincidences, especially now if there is someone else bearing that name, now roaming the land and murdering good men in order to hide a shadowy conspiracy.

"What of our pale lunatic?" asked Alfred.

Bruce's expression darkened "He got away."

"How, if I may ask?"

"On our way back north, we encountered a little trouble. There seems to be more lawlessness than usual. I intervened and when I was distracted, he slipped away, disappearing in the confusion. He's quite good at that. However, I did learn something interesting. These bandits were Lannister men and were being led by the Mountain."

"Ser Clegane? Are you certain?"

Bruce nodded, looking grim "Yes. I didn't fight him, but I recognized his voice barking out orders."

"What in the world is he doing?"

"Burning crops, killing little folk, raping, and setting the countryside ablaze. For what reason, I am not sure."

Alfred's eyes widened a little in realization, "If they were Lannister men, then I would say that it has something to do with Tyrion Lannister."

Alfred quickly related what happened to Bruce. Word of Tyrion's captivity in the Vale of Arryn and Cersei's fury was spreading quickly and Alfred surmised that the band of Lannisters attacking the fertile Riverlands is a display of Tywin's anger. The two men knew that Tywin had little love for his son, but Tyrion was still a Lannister and his capture was an insult that the Lord of Casterly Rock was not going to take lying down.

Alfred mentioned word of the Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, moving to have the Mountain arrested and brought to justice but neither Bruce or Alfred believed that would happen. In fact, it would probably exacerbate the problems and probably result in something far worse than the Hand could ever imagine.

Bruce sighed deeply and rubbed his tired eyes. Things were just getting stranger and more complicated. There were days where he hated being a lord and wanted nothing more than to find a ship and sail far away with his family and live somewhere else. But he can't do that, especially with innocent people at the mercy of scheming petty lords and barbaric murderers dressed as knights.

"What shall we do master Wayne?" asked Alfred, watching his liege mulling over what they have discussed.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Bruce looked to his old friend and said, "We go to work."

* * *

It took hours before the fires died. Night was silently watching the tiny village of Fair Spring and all was silent. The peaceful little town was currently cloaked in thin wisps of smoke and the smell of death. Villagers staggered about, weeping and dazed over what had happened. Those who were exhausted by the long and dreadful day gathered in the tavern.

After spending a long stretch of grim silence digging up graves for those who were butchered in the raid, the traumatized survivors sat together, huddling around the great fire crackling in the hearth, giving warmth and light to this gloomy night, weeping and mourning all that they lost.

Sitting among them was a young man named Dwight. Pale, thin and small, the young man was barely fourteen years of age and had already lost both his parents and his sister. He had been away from the village, running an errand for Oswyn the blacksmith, when the attack begun.

Dwight had forgotten something and returned home to retrieve it, only to be greeted by the awful sight of the raid. He hid himself in some bushes a short distance from the village and watched, hoping and praying to the Seven that the raiders didn't harm his older sister or find him.

Unfortunately, it would seem that the gods didn't hear him. Fira was found, lying on the floor of their home in a pool of her own blood. Dwight noticed some bruises on her arms and face then assumed the worse. Some time later, she was buried along side the butcher and two of Dwight's closest friends. Like everyone else in the village, Dwight shed his tears and he wept aloud. He cried to the gods for answers and for reparations but soon, the tears and the weeping stopped.

Dwight's sorrow slowly turned into a cold, icy fury. He wanted to take revenge on those who harmed his loved ones. The young peasant no longer cared about his safety or his life, all he wanted was to find those animals that attacked his village and slit their throats. Vile and poisonous thoughts began to fill his head when suddenly; a voice rang out and interrupted his reverie.

"Hello! Anybody there!"

Dwight and the other villagers looked towards the doorway and saw a cloaked figure emerge from the dark. The tall figure was hunched over from the large brown sack that was slung over his shoulder.

"Ah, here you are!" said the hooded stranger, pleased with himself.

"Who are you?" asked one of the eldest people in the village.

"A friend" the hooded man replied, "bearing gifts and words of encouragement." He reached up and shed his hood, revealing the face of death himself, the Laughing Prince.

All the villagers stared in shock and those closest to him drew away from him. They had heard of this wicked man, his foul deeds and ghastly appearance. His deathly pale face looked even more ghoulish by the faint, warm light of the fire and the dancing shadows that enshrouded the tavern.

Emerald eyes held the collection of tired and grief stricken survivors steadily and an unnaturally cheerful smile clung to his face. One of the women passed out, another started babbling a prayer to the Seven to deliver them. Dwight stared at the infamous renegade in shock and curiosity.

What was the Laughing Prince doing here? Was he here to kill them too? There were some stories of how he was a harbinger of death and a stealer of souls. If that were true, than Dwight didn't have much doubt anymore. His pale complexion glowed in the firelight and his cheerful grin just made him feel even more inhuman.

It took a moment for them to recover from the shock but two of the men in the tavern got up and grabbed whatever they could for weapons, a candlestick and a chair, and brandished them threateningly at the pale man.

"We don't want any trouble," said one of the armed men "But we don't want you here"

"Get out of here!" snarled the other man "We've had enough death to last us a lifetime."

"I know" the Laughing Prince replied coolly "That is why I came. I came to offer a helping hand."

The two men looked at the unwanted guest strangely, as did the rest of the tavern's occupants.

"Help? From you?" one of the men said incredulously.

The pale man nodded and held up his hands in show of surrender. "Yes. I heard of your suffering and I merely wanted to give you some food…and some helpful advice." He placed the bag down on the floor and tugged it open revealing hunks of bread, cheese, meat and vegetables. The people gazed at the food with surprise and suspicion.

One of the other men spoke up "Why are you doing this? You are a rogue, a murderer, a monster…why would you help us?" The Laughing Prince glanced at the man and, to the surprise of everyone in the tavern, his expression softened. A brief silence held between them then the pale lunatic that all men in Westeros spoke in a soft, pitiful tone. "Because I care about you and because I was once a man like you."

The entire tavern was immediately intrigued. The brutal outlaw that sat before them was once like them? All the stories and rumors portrayed him as some hellish beast that just dropped out of the sky one day.

In answer to their curiosity, the pale man continued. "Once, long ago, I was but a humble man who lived like you. It was a simple life…a family, a wife and a daughter. I loved them dearly. I would've given my life for them. I trusted and served my liege lord, just like you. However one day, I learned the terrible truth."

His emerald eyes scanned the room, landing on each man, woman and child there. "Any idea what that may be?"

No one answered. Most were too scared to speak; some were too entranced by his words. Without waiting another moment, the Laughing Prince answered his own question. "I learned that you could not trust your liege lord. Those…disgusting creatures, they prattle on about honor and justice, but the truth of the matter is they are HYPOCRITES!" his shouting of the last word made everyone jumped.

One of the village elders frowned at the rogue "Hypocrites?"

The pale man grinned "Yes, hypocrites. Don't you think it rather strange that _you_ have to serve _them_? You who grow the food they eat, you whom they beat and rape without remorse during their petty little wars, and you who outnumber them by the thousands? Don't you think that something is terribly wrong here?"

A few of the tavern's occupants shared a look and some murmured to each other. A number of them were rather shocked at the rogue's words but Dwight, as well as a few others, simply stared at the man entranced. Something about what the pale man was saying felt true! It was as if he saw some hidden truth and was confirming something that Dwight had been feeling for the longest time.

"But they are here to lead us!" one of the women protested, "They were anointed by the Seven to guide us and protect us!"

"The Seven!" the Laughing Prince cackled scornfully "Oh my dear woman, I don't believe that the gods would have ever left our welfare in the hands of a bunch of spoiled children and murderers. If they did, then I applaud their sense of humor, especially for giving us a fat drunken oaf to be our king."

Others started to chime in and give their voice on this. Most village folk were loyal to their lord, Lord Hoster Tully, and to the king. Many have lived under the Tully's kind rule and would not stand for their kind lord being insulted by this monster, but with each protest or rebuttal, the Laughing Prince replied in a calm, expert manner.

Dwight slowly became more and more convinced of the rogue's views. Suddenly, the Laughing Prince stood up and the entire tavern went silent.

The frightened men and women closest to him backed away in fear of being attacked. His ghostly white face still had that strange, cheery smile. Within seconds, the pale outlaw's features turned grim and dark. He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I am saddened to hear that you people still believe as you do. Since you feel this strongly, then I fear that there is no hope for you."

"Are you threatening us?" the man with the candlestick demanded.

The Laughing Prince shook his head again, "No, I am merely lamenting. I know your future and it is filled with death and misery beyond your worst nightmares. If you continue being blind to the evils of the lords you serve, you shall suffer as all of your forebears who believed as you." He gestured to the sack full of food "The food is yours. Its not poisoned, if that is what you are thinking. Enjoy it, save it for later, I care not what you do with it. You will need it for the terrible winter that is coming."

The rogue went to the door of the tavern and paused. He turned to face the tavern's occupants one last time and said solemnly "Before I leave you, remember this my friends: Your honorable lords are not as honorable as they seem. Do not put your faith in them. The men who attacked you are Lannister men. This senseless slaughter was merely a message from Tywin Lannister to Eddard Stark, all for his half-man son. So go on, rebuild and forget this horrid night for a little while, but beware; a storm of steel and blood is coming and you will all drown in it." The Laughing Prince threw back his head and let out a high, mad cackle and departed.

Though he was gone, the frightened villagers could still hear the mad man's laughter echoing through the night. Some time passed and hunger won over their fear and the villagers were pleased to discover that the food was unspoiled and good to eat.

As the hungry villagers dug into the bag, Dwight's attention was fixed on the window, still haunted by the words of the pale rogue. The young man felt like he had just awakened from a bad dream and was seeing clearly for the first time. There were good lords who dispensed justice wisely and took care of their people. However after the mindless slaughter of half the village, Dwight was slowly coming to see that the nobility didn't give a damn about any of them.

Where was justice? Where were the king's men? Shouldn't they be here to help them or dispense justice on Tywin Lannister and his men? That didn't seem very likely, they probably were sitting back in their castles and laughing at the misery of those beneath them. The smallfolk were just livestock to them, pawns!

He had to do something. He had to make those disgusting monsters pay for all the pain and sorrow they inflicted upon his sister and all the people of his village. If the Laughing Prince was right, then something much more terrible was coming and Dwight desperately wanted to avoid that. He got up and left the tavern. The night was deep and thick. Pale stars glittered against the night and a cool wind tumbled through the tall grass that surrounded the village.

Dwight trudged off to the edge of the village, heading towards the path that led to the next village and the Kingsroad. He paused at the edge of the village boundary and looked back towards the warm little tavern and to what was left of his meager little home beyond that. There was a small nagging doubt in the back of his mind, something that was pleading with him to reconsider what he was doing and just go home.

Dwight shoved that nagging feeling aside, he had no home and he had nothing left to keep him there. He was sure of what he was doing. The young man turned and found himself face to face with the Laughing Prince. The pale rogue stood a few feet away from him. His eerie features stood out in the moonless dark.

"What do you want boy?" the outlaw asked, curious "Shouldn't you be at home with the rest of them, enjoying what little time you have left?"

"I…I came because…I want to join you" Dwight stammered, fumbling for the right words to say. He was dead set on leaving but he didn't really consider what he was going to say to the Laughing Prince.

"Join me?" the Laughing Prince said, surprised "Why is that?"

"Because…because those men killed my sister. I-I want revenge!"

A strange silence fell on the two. For a long moment the pale outlaw stared at Dwight, his face an unreadable mask. As the seconds slowly passed by, Dwight felt a chill creep up his spine as a terrible thought came to mind. What if the Laughing Prince was just lying and was going to slit his throat right here just for the fun of it?

Before he could answer his own questions, the Laughing Prince stepped toward him until the two were mere inches apart. Dwight felt his heart stop. The rogue clapped his hands on Dwight's shoulders and grinned. "So its revenge that you want? Well my boy, you have come to the right man."

The frightened young man felt his fear subside, but only just a little.

* * *

Night fell on Vaes Dothrak. Sounds of celebration filled the calm, warm air. Merriment and pleasure spread across the numerous population like a plague. It could be found everywhere you go and in every man, woman and child in Vaes Dothrak.

Viserys Targaryen, however, seemed to be immune to this pleasant little disease.

The prince in exile sat alone, brooding in a dirty, crowded drinking hall, his mind clouded by anger and by drink. Scattered about the establishment were some cushy seats, benches and tables that served dozens of Dothraki riders, foreign merchants and other temporary citizens of Vaes Dothrak.

Viserys laid claim to a little corner of the drinking hall and demanded the best swill that this sty of an establishment served. The serving woman brought him a cup of terrible, stale liquid and even though he issued a venomous threat and pronounced his royal heritage. The woman, after smelling the drink on his breath, merely rolled her eyes and left.

Viserys had a mind to teach the woman what happens when you cross a dragon, but he got some rather unpleasant looks from a rather large Dothraki man who acted as a guard for the establishment. The young Targaryen abandoned those thoughts and eventually went back to stewing in his bitter thoughts and his now filthy, smelly clothes.

It had been an awful few days in Vaes Dothrak. Though they made a pact, his sister for an army, Viserys has yet to see any significant progress with Khal Drogo. The only thing that the smelly barbarian seemed to be making progress with is ensuring that his bloodline continues on and lying about in this sty like a pig.

Ser Jorah urged patience and assured the prince that he will get his army, but Viserys knew better than that foolish, disgraced knight. Khal Drogo was merely wasting his time, now that he had everything that he wanted. If he could, Viserys would force the Khal to make good on his promise, or at least Daenerys, but she seems changed.

Before, she tried to make command him by sending him a serving girl to summon him like a dog and dress him up like one of the smelly horse lords. When he sought to rectify this and remind her of who she was dealing with, she struck him and threatened him that if he were to touch her again, Khal Drogo would have his head. Of course she was carrying the Khal's unborn child and Viserys did reconsider what he was doing, but she was still his sister and the Khal still had an oath to fulfill.

Unfortunately, Viserys was certain that the Dothraki seemed more motivated to drink, dance and whore in the mud and dirt than fighting for him. He had no gold, no allies, no army, and now, no sister to barter. The exiled prince balled up his hand into a fist. Everyday was a struggle for him; constantly staying ahead of the usurper's hired knives, having to barter and spend every bit of gold and Targaryen heirloom to build influence and make connections.

Years of hard work and it all amounted to being a lone in a filthy drinking hall, surrounded by dirty barbarians and fools. With nothing else to do or drink, Viserys gulped down more of the liquid in his cup and shuddered from the awful aftertaste. His mind grew more and more cloudy by the moment.

 _Perhaps I can find a new army. Perhaps an army of Unsullied,_ the young prince thought to himself. The Unsullied were legendary for their skill and their loyalty but they were very expensive. There was also the issue of gold to consider. He sighed deeply and demanded another drink.

After the serving woman brought him his drink, a robed figure entered the drinking hall. Everyone paused and looked at the newcomer. Viserys took note of the new arrival. The figure was a man, but the foul liquid he had been gulping for the past few hours dulled blurred his sight a little. He could see that the man hair like liquid silver, fair skin and wore a robe of flowing crimson and gold.

The man settled himself down at Viserys's table and politely requested a drink. The patrons of the drinking hall went back to their conversations and revelry, but some still eyed the robed newcomer. Viserys stared at the man and was amazed and a little put off by the audacity of this stranger. The man turned his attention to the young prince. His features were still a little blurred but the young prince noticed emerald eyes twinkling at him in the faint candlelight.

"You are Prince Viserys Targaryen, correct?" the man asked, his voice was clear yet gentle like a summer breeze.

" _King_ Viserys" the exiled royal corrected, "I am the last of my house and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, you will address me as such."

To the outside observer, it was rather rude for someone to say such a thing. In Vaes Dothrak however such rudeness would usually earn the impertinent fool a punch to the face, mockery or worse.

The stranger simply smiled and bowed his head low "My apologies, my king, it has been so long since I have met a true born Targaryen."

"Apology accepted" Viserys belched, "What brings you here? Be quick about it, I have precious little time to-to spare."

"Of course." The man's drink arrived. He gave the woman some coins and took a quick gulp then proceeded "I am merely here to congratulate you, sire."

"Congratulate me?"

"Yes, for the glorious return of House Targaryen."

Viserys froze. The return of House Targaryen, what did this mean? This had to be a jape.

"Return? Hardly" Viserys snorted, "Thank you for cheering me up, now be gone before you spoil my good mood."

The man held up a hand "But it is true! For I have seen it, it was revealed to me by the gods."

The young prince's eyes narrowed at the man in red. The gods showed him a vision? Preposterous! He didn't believe in visions or prophecies. The only thing that Viserys believed in was results, and at this moment he was as far from restoring his noble house as it gets.

"Now you are mocking me. Now leave before you wake the dragon."

The man remained firm. "The gods have shown me slaughtered direwolves, bleeding stags, a wounded golden lion, a sickly kraken, broken spears and a withered flower. All of them broken and defeated as a great, red dragon soared across a black sky and burned seven great lands."

Viserys was getting annoyed by this man, until he mentioned the death's of direwolves, stags, lions and flowers. From the sound of this vision, it sounded like the great houses of Westeros would be weakened or broken and that this dragon, a Targaryen dragon, would rise up and burn these weakened houses to ash.

But surely this is a jape or a trick. Maybe this man was some trickster who was looking for some money from an easy prey. The very thought made Viserys angry. Before he could make his anger known, the young prince paused when he noticed a symbol embroidered on the robed man's breast: A crimson heart engulfed by golden flames.

The exiled royal remembered vaguely of a conversation he had with magister Illyrio of a religion from Asshai, people who worshiped a god of sorts and his priests and priestesses were rumored to be able to see the future if their god allowed it. It was all fuzzy but the topic of seeing the future remained clear, even through the murkiness haze of drink.

"You're a fire priest," Viserys murmured, realizing whom he was speaking with.

The silver haired man nodded "Yes. I am a priest of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I was making my pilgrimage to Asshai when I had gazed into my fire and I saw the dragon of House Targaryen, enthroned once more in King's Landing and arrayed in glory once more."

"Truly?"

"Aye. I see only what the Lord of Light permits."

Viserys felt his heartbeat quicken. Could this be? Will he really return home and reclaim his throne? Viserys drank from his cup and then asked, "Tell me, fire priest, how do I reclaim my throne? These filthy savages will not heed my voice. They would sooner lay with horses and goats than fight for me."

The red priest shrugged "I know not my king, I know only what was shown to me and that I must inform you of the destiny of your house. But there is a way and you already know what you must do."

The bitter royal snorted. How vague. Viserys has to only take this man's words for what its worth. He couldn't win his crown with words only. What did he mean by what he must do? Viserys realized that there is only one way how he could get his crown. A small rational part of him warned against doing what he was going to do, but emotions and the wine overrode reason. Viserys wanted his army and he was going to get it. He had to be a man and take what he wants. Thanks to the red priest, he now knew that he was going to succeed.

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Your grace?"

Viserys blinked and he found himself looking up at Ser Jorah. The exiled knight stood there looking at him with concern. The young Targaryen blinked and looked to the priest to thank him for giving him the wonderful news but was surprised to see that the man was gone. The hairs on the back of his neck rose a little, but he didn't have time to ponder if the man was real or not. He had an army to take and a crown to win.

* * *

The red priest saw the wine soaked, drunken prince stumble out of the drinking hall, followed by the exiled knight. The two traded some heated words with each other and then the young prince stormed off to take what was promised.

The poor fool.

The red clad priest remained in the shadows, watching as the knight hurried after the prince.

It was true that the priest did see the great dragon crossing the waters and finding the great houses of Westeros broken and weakened, but he didn't specifically see Viserys in that vision.

He saw that House Targaryen would return, but from what he had seen in the flames and from a day of shadowing the young prince, the spoiled young man was not the one and would not be missed. Had he remained, Viserys would have altered the course of events, not by much but just enough to throw everything off balance.

Which is what brought Brother Blood to Vaes Dothrak. His gods needed to make sure everything was going to their design. The red clad priest turned and departed from the scene, feeling that his work in Vaes Dothrak was done and that his work was needed in the west.

A woman and her young child crossed his path and when they saw the symbol on his chest they scurried away, carefully avoiding eye contact.

Had the prince been a little more sober, he would've seen that he was gravely mistaken.

The symbol embroidered on the priest's crimson robes was not a blazing heart, but rather a crimson eye shedding tears of gold.

* * *

King's Landing was alive with noise and activity. The numerous inhabitants were going about their lives. Hammer's clanging away in the blacksmith's shops, the smell of fresh bread wafting through the air and large numbers crowded the main roads of King's Landing.

Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and current Hand of the King, emerged from the brothel with Jory and several other of his house guard, feeling nothing but frustration. Ever since he arrived in King's Landing, Ned has had faced nothing but questions and half-truths from people who were supposed to be his allies.

The more he looked into the death of Jon Arryn, the more things didn't make sense.

Ned was starting to miss Winterfell and the simplicity of it. Fortunately, thanks to Littlefinger's help and the evidence that Catelyn uncovered, Ned may be closer to finding the truth.

After conducting a brief visit to a brothel, owned by Littlefinger, and seeing one of the numerous women that Robert had laid with and the bastard child that she bore, Ned was another step forward in his investigation.

The girl was young and still loved Robert. The baby had the look of a Baratheon. The visit was brief and pleasant but Ned still wasn't sure as to why Jon was keeping an eye on two of Robert's bastards. Ned decided to puzzle with this manner another time. He needed to head back to the Red Keep and deal with more pressing matters, like the wanton destruction of several villages by Tywin Lannister men. Ned got word of the destruction and sent some men to bring the Mountain to justice but so far, things were only getting worse.

As Jory and the others were getting their horses ready, Ned noticed a woman watching them. He noticed her watching them ever since they first arrived. It was rather difficult to not to notice her. The woman was beautiful, with long black hair, braided in a way so that it doesn't get in the way of her sparkling blue eyes. She had a shapely figure and features that could attract any man.

If she were a woman of a noble house, Ned felt that this woman would put any other noble woman to shame.

When Ned arrived at the brothel, she stood there, sweeping dirt away from the front of the small building across the road and now she was feeding crumbs to a small grey cat. Ned's eyes narrowed and decided to speak with her.

"Good morning" Ned greeted.

"Good morning, my lord hand," the woman greeted, bowing her head. A soft scent of blossoms caressed Ned's nose and the woman gave him a smile that was a little too friendly.

"I couldn't help but notice that you seem to have a particular interest in our visit" Ned said.

The woman shrugged "Its not everyday to have the Hand of the King to visit this part of the city, even rarer to visit thrice."

"Thrice?"

"Yes. The other one, Lord Jon Arryn, he was here before you."

Ned raised an eyebrow "What was the nature of his visit?"

The woman shrugged again "I don't know. From what I have seen, he was over there at the brothel to see Mhaegen a few times. If it were any other man, I would think it was for pleasure rather than official courtly matters."

Ned nodded slowly. He felt something against his shin. Looking down, he saw that the little grey cat was brushing against his leg, purring.

"She likes you," the woman said, her smile widening. Ned felt a small smile appear on his face and then he noticed an interesting bracelet on the woman's wrist. It was a thin circle of silver with the image of a crowned stag etched into the metal.

Noticing Ned's gaze, the woman looked at her bracelet "Ah, this…this was a gift."

"From House Baratheon, if I am not mistaken."

The woman shook her head "No, you're not mistaken. Robert was always generous with his gifts."

Ned froze. "Robert? As in our king, _your_ king, Robert Baratheon?"

The woman nodded "Yes. He'd come and see whenever he went to see Mhaegen and the girls across the way."

Ned was surprised, yet he wasn't at the same time. Robert was well known for his antics with the ladies, and this woman would more than likely catch Robert's eye. "How did you meet him? Were you a-,"

"A whore? No," the woman said, sounding offended "I live here. He saw me out here feeding my kittens one evening and approached me. Told me he was the king and I told him that I didn't care if he was bloody Symeon Star-Eyes. When I learned that he was the king, imagine my surprise."

Ned smiled a little.

"We talked a little and nothing much came of it. Ever since then, he visited me on occasions and brings a little gift in an attempt to sway me and talk my ear off about how we would run away from this dreadful kingdom and sail for Essos or the Jade Sea and beyond, leaving everything behind but every time I would have an excuse. It became our own little game and he hasn't won since. I thought it was a little annoying, he always thought it was good fun, since nobody has denied him of anything."

If this woman were speaking the truth, then Ned would be surprised. At first, it almost sounded like Robert was being himself, with the gifts and sweet words, but after hearing about him talking about leaving behind his crown and kingdom, just as he did at the Tourney of the Hand, then Ned was feeling a little worried.

Robert sounded like he was acting like a young boy smitten with a girl for the first time. He would have to find a way of speaking to Robert about this later.

"Excuse me…" a soft voice interrupted.

Ned blinked and looked down. Standing there was a little girl with raven hair and big blue eyes, gently tapping Ned's leg. "Is Selina in trouble?"

"Lyra" the woman hissed.

Ned shook his head slowly "No, she's not in trouble. I merely needed to ask her a question." The little girl nodded in understanding. "Lyra, go back inside." The little girl nodded and trotted off. The woman named Selina smiled nervously "Children."

"Your daughter?" Ned asked.

Selina shook her head "No, an orphan. I found her living in an alleyway alone. I took pity on her and took her in, like I have with a few others. I suppose you could say that I collect strays."

"How admirable."

Selina nodded, "It really is a shame that these children are left to fend for themselves. I figure that I have to do something for these poor little creatures, King's Landing is no place for children."

Ned nodded in agreement. The two spoke a little more on Mhaegen and her baby but once he was sure that there was nothing more to be gleaned from her, Ned bid Selina a good day then went back to Jory and the others.

He was ready to climb up on his horse but stopped when he saw Jaime Lannister and a dozen other men in armor galloped up the road. The golden haired knight was wearing his armor and his white cloak of the Kingsguard and looked like a man who was ready to kill.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **(a/n: Well what do you think? I forgot to mention last time, Mick and Leonard are Captain Cold and Heatwave. Here we have Brother Blood from Teen Titans.**

 **Next time: Things are heating up as King Robert dies, with trouble and treachery in King's Landing. Tyrion, free from the Vale, encounters enemies and friends, among them a bannerman named Luthor, Meanwhile in the North things only get more peculiar for Victor and the Nights Watch.)**


	7. Pt 7: In the Name of the King (1)

**(a/n: Sorry for the wait! Enjoy!)**

* * *

Part 7: In The Name of the King (1)

An awful sight greeted Ned when he entered the king's chamber.

Robert's chamber felt more like a crypt than a king's chambers. In the king's chamber was the king himself, Joffrey, Cersei, Ser Barristan Selmy and Maester Pycelle, who was treating the wounded king.

The Hand of the King was having a rotten week thus far. After speaking with the woman Selina, he was attacked by Jaime Lannister. In the ensuing skirmish, Ned lost most of his men and gained a limp. The following couple of days, Ned had been bedridden. Robert visited Ned and the two made amends over their disagreement during their last session of the small council and the northerner was reinstated as Hand.

The king returned to his jovial self and Ned's spirits were raised a little, though the loss of his men and the wound still weighed on him.

Robert informed Ned that he was going to be away on a hunt for a few days and that he would be back to discuss some important matters with his Hand, namely Tyrion's current predicament.

Unfortunately, there was an incident during the hunt from what Ned was once great warrior was now abed, covered in bloodied rags and lathered in remedies meant to subdue inflammation and prevent infection.

As Ned neared his friend's bed, he got a better view of the wounds and felt his heart sank. It would seem that the boar gored Robert very good. Puss oozed at parts of the wounds and a foul stench stung Ned's nose, possibly from the wound itself and from the lack of bathing. Robert looked haggard but was awake. He was currently speaking to his son in a low, raspy voice, sounding too weak to even breathe.

Upon seeing Ned enter his chambers, Robert told Joffrey to leave, who obeyed without a word. Cersei glared at Ned but said nothing while Pycelle hovered nearby. Ned sat down in the chair by Robert's bed, looking upon his old friend with sadness and dismay. Judging from Pycelle's expression before he departed and from the state of Robert's wounds, Ned deduced that there was no good news to be had.

The Hand of the King sat there quietly staring at his king, not really sure what to say. Eventually, Robert was the first to speak.

"Stinks" grunted Robert "Stinks like death"

Ned nodded slowly, eyeing Robert's bloodied rags and blankets. The wounds looked even worse up close.

Robert grinned and let out a dry chuckle "I paid the bastard back Ned, stabbed him right in the brain I did."

A small smile tugged at Ned's lips but he couldn't bring himself to allow it to appear.

After expressing his desire to have his funeral feast being the biggest and serving the boar that got him, Robert ordered everyone to leave, save for Ned. Cersei protested but Robert insisted, followed by a rattling cough. The room was vacated and the two old friends were left alone.

When they were alone, Ned spoke "You damn fool".

The haggard king nodded a little "I suppose I did underestimated that boar…surviving all those battles and defeating all those knights and for what? I think the gods are playing a rather cruel jape. Ha! Imagine what they'll say…King Robert Baratheon, murdered by a wild pig while he was drunk off his arse."

"There are worse ways to die," said Ned. Robert nodded in agreement. Ned considered his words carefully, not truly sure of what he wanted to speak with Robert about.

A thought came to mind and he decided to speak on it. "I spoke with Selina" Ned said "Before Ser Jaime Lannister attacked me."

Strangely enough, Robert's expression brightened a bit. "Selina?" said Robert, his voice soft and affectionate "How is she?"

"She seems to be doing well," Ned answered, studying his friend's face "Her and those children seem happy."

"Did she ask after me?" asked Robert.

Ned thought for a moment then nodded "Yes, and she still wears that medallion you gave her."

Robert grinned broadly and sighed deeply "That woman…" murmured the wounded king. Ned asked his friend about Selina and the king shook his head slowly.

"…I love her, Ned" Robert said, finally "Selina…"

"Love?"

"Aye. That woman…when I first met her, she treated me like any other man. None of that 'yes your majesty' or any of the usual platitudes. Even after I told her who I was, she still spoke her mind. She told you, did she? About how we met?"

Ned nodded.

"That woman…she made me feel young again…made me feel alive," said Robert "Ever since I won this crown…something changed. I felt…dead. The crown never suited me and neither did fatherhood. For years I wanted to just leave it all behind, trade this life for that of a sellsword. I wanted adventures. With Selina, I felt as if I were back on the Trident, battling Rhaegar's army and that anything was possible again. Despite my gifts and words, that woman turned me away every time. Her fire, her words, her stubbornness and her beauty…she reminded me of Lyanna, a little."

Thinking back to the woman, Ned could see some of Lyanna in Selina's features and her manners. The Hand of the King considered his friend's words. He has heard most of this before and dismissed it as for some fanciful dream of Robert's. But now, Robert sounded like a prisoner yearning for freedom.

"Ned…" croaked Robert.

Ned's attention returned to his king "Yes?"

"Tell Selina…I'm sorry," said Robert, his voice almost a whisper "…sorry for not following through with our plans…the Jade Sea and all that will have to wait."

Ned wasn't sure if he was able to keep that promise but agreed. The discussion continued on in like fashion, where Robert recalled old names and places, speaking of them with fondness. When the discussion turned to more recent events and people, Robert's expression soured. "…and that pale bastard…" grumbled the king "that lunatic who mocked me at the tourney…"

"He's still abroad" Ned said, grimly "Rumors say that he is gathering supporters. The more those bandits put the countryside to the torch and the sword, the stronger he grows. The smallfolk see him as some sort of hero while others are terrified of him. Some even see him as the Smiling Knight come again."

"Kill him Ned" said Robert "Drive a sword through his heart, for my sake." Ned promised that he would, feeling that he could fulfill that promise at least.

Robert coughed; spitting up phlegm and gestured to the table near his bedside.

"Ink and paper" the king wheezed, in-between coughs "Quickly, I need you to write this down."

Ned retrieved the items and began to write down Robert's words, which named Ned as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon his death, to rule in his stead until Joffrey came of age. Unbeknownst to the king, Ned revised the king's words a little to where the right to rule would fall to Robert's true heir. This was done knowing the horrible truth of Joffrey's parentage. The Hand of the King had a plan in place and he had to move quickly. He knew that forces were working against him and now that Robert was approaching death's door, the kingdom's future hinged on what came next.

Once he finished transcribing Robert's words and being instructed to deliver the paper to the council when Robert dies, the wounded king smiled, weakly.

"You'll rule now…you'll hate worse than I did" Robert said, sounding weary "But you'll do it well. The girl, Daenerys…you were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother…worthless. None of them could tell me no but you…and Selina."

Robert pleaded with Ned to watch over Joffrey and help him grow to be a better man than him and call off the assassins the crown had hired to eliminate the girl before it was too late. After another fit of coughing, the wounded king asked his friend to give him something for the pain and to let him die.

When Ned departed Robert's chamber, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse.

* * *

Liram awoke to a nightmare. It felt as if the world was spinning and that the contents of his stomach were forcing their way up into the back of his throat. After steadying himself and fighting the urge to vomit, the dizzy feeling faded a little and Liram's vision cleared enough for him to see the worst possible sight one could ever imagine: a pale, grinning face with emerald eyes, almost suspended in the air before him like a phantom in the shadows of the night and dancing torch light.

The face was mere inches away and smelled of lemon and mint.

The soldier jumped a little and tried to scurry away but he quickly discovered that he was sitting and was bound to the trunk of a towering old tree. The more he fought, the tighter the cords became, scraping against his bare flesh. In addition to being bound to a tree, with the most infamous outlaw in all the Seven Kingdom's standing before him, Liram realized that he was stripped of everything: his leather armor, his sword, boots and every other article of clothing.

After much struggling, Liram looked up at the grinning man and spoke, trying hard not to sound frightened. "What in seven hells is this?" Liram demanded, "Where am I and why am I naked?"

"You, my dear fellow, are here to be judged," answered the pale outlaw in a calm, breezy voice "You are naked as the day you are born because when stripped of all armor, clothing and finery, all men are equal as they are in death and to justice."

Liram scowled "Judged for what? I did nothing wrong!"

"Lies!" hissed a female voice.

The Laughing Prince, looking every bit a prince, swept his regal emerald and purple cloak aside, revealing a rather ugly woman.

Judging from the wiry grey hair and copious amounts wrinkles, the woman was possibly about as old as the naked soldier's own grandmother. Despite the grandmotherly appearance, her expression bore an unfathomable rage and coldness.

Lingering beyond the torchlight and gathered in the shadows, Liram could make out dozens of shapes and eyes, watching with anger and anticipation, making the soldier feel even more naked and embarrassed. Jabbing a boney finger, the elderly woman snarled, "You lot murdered my son and my granddaughter!"

Liram shook his head "No…no I…I didn't murder anybody!"

"They wore the sigil of House Clegane!" cried a voice from the shadows "I saw 'em!"

"As did I!" cried another.

Liram shook his head "No, that wasn't me!" The woman moved to strike the naked and bound soldier, shrieking hysterically that he was lying but the Laughing Prince held her back.

The pale outlaw ushered the weeping woman away, a comforting arm around her shoulders and soothing words tumbling from his lips like wine. Liram gazed in astonishment at the pale man. The soldier heard tales of this infamous outlaw. His various exploits made him out to be some sort of demonic trickster or some unstoppable monster and yet it didn't seem that way with the old woman. He wiped away her tears with a silk cloth and said something that made her smile a warm, good-humored smile.

When the old woman was calmed, the Laughing Prince turned and regarded the naked soldier with grim and serious expression.

"Forgive her" he said, "This poor woman, like these other good people, has lost much at the hands of Lannister men."

Liram swallowed. He did not like the sound of this.

The pale outlaw continued, "As of late, the good folk of these lands are suffering under the hands of marauders serving Ser Clegane, who in tern is serving the golden lion of Casterly Rock. Many here have already lost homes, loved ones and livelihoods. But no more."

A soft wave of chattering announced their agreement. "No more shall the small folk live like cattle to be slaughtered by lions or krakens or wolves or stags."

A few voices voiced their agreement from the dark. The Laughing Prince shook his head slowly "No more shall they kneel in the mud and lick the boots of these disgusting parasites who do nothing but war with one another, killing innocent men, women and children who want nothing more than to live in peace. No more will their daughters be victims to the appetites of the thugs and brutes in the pockets of these lords who do nothing to help!"

All around Liram and the Laughing Prince, cheers and roars filled the night, as well as calls for Liram's blood.

The hairs on the back of Liram's neck stood. This wasn't good.

A young boy brought forth a roll of parchment and proffered it to the nobly dressed outlaw. The Laughing Prince accepted the parchment and unfurled it then began to read aloud a list of heinous crimes and accusations leveled at Liram. Most of them didn't sound familiar to the naked soldier, but when the crime of theft was listed, he felt his heart skip a beat and regret filled his thoughts for the first time in many years.

Once the reading of the crimes was completed, the pale outlaw turned to the naked soldier, his eyes gleaming in the torchlight and said sweetly "Now then, soldier of House Lannister, what say you? Guilty or innocent?"

Liram gave the pale man a strange look "What say I? Innocent! I'm innocent!"

"Lies!" spat a voice

"Thieving bastard!" shouted another.

A chorus of jeers and snarls rose from the dark but the Laughing Prince held up a hand, silencing the angered voices instantly.

The pale outlaw's eyes twinkled "Innocent you say?"

Liram nodded furiously.

Crouching down, the Laughing Prince gazed deeply into the naked soldier's eye. A few moments of awkward silence passed and the pale outlaw spoke. "I believe you are speaking the truth," said the Laughing Prince. A series of gasps and surprised voices chattered in the dark, some sounded incredibly angry. Liram felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders.

However, the Laughing Prince continued speaking.

"I believe you are speaking the truth…and yet I believe that these good folks also speak truly," explained the outlaw "You have an honest face and I feel that you are being honest, but I have yet to hear a good explanation for this." He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a small piece of silver dangling from a bit of string. Liram swallowed hard and felt his heart sink.

The naked soldier was indeed a member of a raiding party, but not one led by Ser Clegane. While he did not take part in the bloodshed, Liram was guilty of another sin. Everything started coming back into focus for the soldier.

Liram had arrived after one of Ser Clegane's raids had finished. It was his duty was to gather whatever would be useful for Lord Tywin and his army. Some of the men helped themselves to what they saved from the torched villages, mostly food, coin and women. Liram was appalled by the bloodshed and the callous attitudes of his fellow soldiers, towards those slain in the raid and towards those poor souls who were still alive in the ashes of their destroyed villages.

Although he liked to hold himself above his base and greedy comrades, being faithful adherent to the Faith of the Seven that he was. However, Liram had a moment of weakness. Among the food and items gathered, the young soldier found a shiny bit of silver and pocketed it as a gift for the girl he fancied back in Lannisport.

When the raiding party mounted and rode out, Liram lagged behind and was ambushed by a band of dirty looking men in rough spun clothes and white powdered faces. They appeared out of the woods like ghosts and overpowered him quickly and the next thing he knew, Liram woke up to this mock trial.

Cornered and facing down a murderous outlaw and a bloodthirsty mob, Liram confessed. He told the truth and emphasized that he wasn't involved in the raids. The Laughing Prince's face betrayed no hint to his thoughts or emotions. He stood there, listening patiently and silently.

After Liram completed his tale, the pale outlaw scratched his chin. "That is quite a story," he said.

"I'm telling the truth!" the naked soldier insisted, "I murdered no man or woman…"

"You merely stole a cherished piece of silver" the pale outlaw finished.

Frustration bubbled in the young soldier. It seems like that no matter how much Liram tried, he wasn't going to be heard. The pale outlaw stood there, still as a statue and regal like a lord, mulling over the soldier's confession. Moments passed at a slug's pace.

Finally the Laughing Prince waved a hand "Untie him and stand him up." A pair of large men emerged from the shadows and loosed Liram from his bindings then roughly pulled him to his feet.

The green haired outlaw spoke in a loud, clear voice. "I find no fault in this man" the Laughing Prince declared "I find him to be an honest man, innocent of the blood shed by the armies of Tywin Lannister."

A few voices cried out in outrage but the Laughing Prince continued on. "Though he is innocent of the accusations of murder, this man is guilty for the crime of thievery."

Liram tried to protest but his voice was drowned by a growing cacophony of angry voices arising from the dark woods around them. The naked soldier looked about him in fear as men and women of various ages and sizes emerge from the shadows, faces all twisted with rage and hate. Each of them carried daggers, clubs and other assorted weapons, each of them baying for blood.

It appeared to Liram that the crowd was getting out of control but the Laughing Prince looked calm. He tried to calm them peacefully but his voice was drowned out as well.

Angry, the outlaw roared "SHUT IT!"

The armed mob stopped dead in its tracks.

The Laughing Prince's face twisted into a harsh expression. His hand swept open his cloak, revealing a beautiful sword with a blue crescent moon shaped pommel and snarled, "Any of you who takes another step shall taste my blade. I will not allow any insubordination!"

The mob remained still, each looking unsure as to how to proceed. The pale man's expression softened and he addressed the assembled mob that was growing more restless and bloodthirsty by the moment.

"My friends, please…I implore that you be patient and bear with me" the pale man pleaded, his voice raw with emotion "I know you have lost much and are in pain…believe me, I know your pain for I have suffered like you. You have chosen me to be your leader, to be your sword to strike down these vile lords and earn justice. However, you must remember…these soldiers are human too. They have homes and families who depend on them and are waiting for them to return. True, these men are instruments of death in the hands of men like Tywin Lannister, but please remember that men like this one…" he gestured to Liram "are men like you, flawed men. Some have no choice but to serve and to fight and let their beastly impulses take hold, unlike men like Gregor Clegene who delights in death and misery and is evil incarnate. Men like him should be brought low and be made to answer to the people he has harmed but men like this one…should be treated fairly before the law. If we devolve into a mindless rabble and execute mindlessly, we're no better than Clegene and Tywin Lannister."

Silence followed the Laughing Prince's speech. From the faces, a number of them still wanted to tear Liram apart for being a Lannister soldier and for stealing but their expressions softened and the general mood cooled. The Laughing Prince smiled warmly and called forth the old woman from before. He placed the silver necklace in her hand and closed her fingers around it, saying that it has been returned to its rightful owner.

The woman wept and blessed the pale outlaw for retrieving the necklace. The mood lightened a little more and the armed mob lowered their weapons.

The Laughing Prince smiled "Thank you. You will have justice. You have my solemn vow, but we simply cannot let our emotions get the better of us." He turned to face Liram "As I have said, this man is innocent of murder but not of thievery. He shall be punished as such."

The pale man nodded and the two men brought a struggling Liram forward then forced him to kneel. Another man brought forth a heavy wooden block and they placed the naked soldier's hand onto the block. The Laughing Prince, now solemn faced, drew a dagger. Silently, the crowd gathered a little closer to watch the proceedings. Kneeling, the pale outlaw gruffly took Liram's hand and chopped off the soldier's ring finger.

The naked soldier let out a pained scream, tears welling up in his eyes. Through the pain and tears, Liram noticed that the men holding him released him and that the Laughing Prince was binding up the newly made stump on his hand. Something soft and warm enveloped him and the naked soldier realized that he was being wrapped in the pale outlaw's emerald and purple cloak.

Liram blinked away the tears, his mind reeling from the pain and tried to make sense of what was happening. This pale man pronounced him guilty for stealing and had every right to hang him as a thief or worse but didn't. Liram heard stories of the Laughing Prince, good and bad. For most of his trial, the naked soldier feared the infamous fugitive and thought the worst stories about him were true. However, the outlaw's actions said otherwise.

Giving a guilty, naked soldier the cloak off his back, binding said soldier's wounds and shielding him from the fury of an angry mob, that didn't seem like the actions of a demonic outlaw or a criminal. To Liram, they seemed like the actions of a king from one of the old stories.

After his wound was bound, the Laughing Prince ordered one of his men to give the naked soldier some clothes, water and food. When the stupefied soldier asked about the outlaw lord's cloak that now hung around his shoulders, the pale man clapped the soldier on the back and japed about how he didn't want the poor lad to catch his death of cold and asked for it back once he dressed. The soldier was soon led away by a man whose face was powdered white.

The Laughing Prince sighed and muttered a few prayers under his breath, invoking the Mother's mercy upon the soldier and upon the group for their rage towards the naked soldier and asked for wisdom to judge rightly in future trials and for the strength to act with honor. Most of the gathered small folk didn't hear, but those who did were amazed and their view of the pale outlaw brightened a little.

The pale outlaw smiled "Justice has been done. I am not a Septon but I believe that the Seven are smiling down upon us all. We let justice see this through and each man brought before us have been justly dealt with. That is all for the night. Go and get some rest, tend to your families and whatnot. Tomorrow we shall continue."

The assembled small folk dispersed, satisfied with the evening's line of trials and dispensing of justice. Each of them took a torch or lantern with them. All bid the pale outlaw a fond farewell. Some tried to kneel or bow, a few even tried to kiss his hand like they would a trueborn lord, but for each one the outlaw asked them not to do that and embraced each of them like a man would his brother.

With each departure, the little island of light shrunk. After the last of the group was gone, the Laughing Prince was left alone with a single dollop of light that came from a lonesome torch planted in the ground a short distance away.

* * *

Finally alone, in the dancing torchlight, the pale man's grin faded a little.

Playing the part of an honorable, noble hero took a lot out of him, day in and day out it was all very exhausting. Having to bury and suppress his true nature, it was like holding in ones breath while being trapped in the bottom of the sea. It was almost unbearable. Despite his best effort's, his true self was scratching away behind the mask he wore for these simple people.

Regardless, the Laughing Prince held on and did what was necessary to not ruin the farce. Everything that he did was necessary for his goals, like capturing and dispensing justice upon a bunch of Lannister soldiers.

Most were executed, but a few, including that last soldier, were spared in order to make a big show about being honorable or some such nonsense.

The pale outlaw picked up the torch and left. He walked a far distance away from where he and his followers held trial and after he was certain that he was alone, sat down at the base of a nearby tree. The outlaw began to whistle a soft tune, not worried at all about the hefty bounty upon his head and the numerous hounds that may be lurking in the night, hoping to catch him.

It didn't matter much to the Laughing Prince. Nothing truly did matter to him, save for a few things. With each day and with each new town devastated by Tywin Lannister, meant more instability for the Seven Kingdoms, which was just peachy for the outlaw. The outlaw's grin returned when he pondered the current affairs of the kingdom a little further.

The death, the carnage and the misery flooded the Riverlands with bitter and angry souls. The river lords are doing all that they can to quell the violence but Tywin was a skillful commander and Ser Clegane was a ruthless butcher with a talent for killing. A deadly combination to say the least and the river lords were helpless to stop them.

Word had reached the pale man's ears about the Lannister dwarf being held in the Vale of Ayrrn, which provided some good material in his little performance. He denounced Tywin and labeled this plague of violence as the tantrums of an overly proud man demanding the release of his demon spawn or something like that. Most of the small folk still steered clear of him, but as the days pass, more slowly came around to his line of thinking.

The Laughing Prince's little following was growing strong and steadily. Some of them were living in the ruins of their villages nearby but most decided that it was safer in numbers and with this radical man and his band of armed followers promising justice and vengeance.

Time crawled along silently. The pale man whistling died down just as his torch dimmed to a faint feeble light; he heard the approach of footsteps.

From out of the dark small group of men, led by one of the pale outlaw's closest acolytes, Dwight. They came into the light, bearing a finely dressed man. The new prisoner was taller and looked lankier than the Lannister soldier. The blindfolded man was forced to kneel before the Laughing Prince.

Dwight tore off the blindfold and the man blinked furiously, eyes adjusting to the dim torchlight and darkness. When his eyes adjusted on the pale outlaw standing before him, terror invaded the man's countenance.

The Laughing Prince spoke, "Good evening! I am honored to have you grace my presence. From the looks of your crest, you are in the service of Lord Regenard Estren of House Estren or one of his sons, correct?"

The bound man nodded, terror written all over his face.

The pale outlaw studied the man and was satisfied to see that he wasn't badly hurt, save for a few cuts and bruises.

"I hope my friends didn't treat you too roughly" the pale man continued, "I would hate to see anything happen to you."

"Please!" cried the servant "Let me go. I-I don't have much but I'll give you anything! Please don't kill me!"

As he pleaded for his life, the Laughing Prince sighed deeply and made a gesture. Dwight stuffed a rag in the bound servant's mouth, choking off the prisoner's pleas for mercy.

The outlaw looked about him at his acolytes. Each of them were dressed in rough spun clothes and were of various ages and backgrounds but all of them had powdered or painted their faces until they were a ghostly white like their leader.

"Where you followed?"

"No," answered Dwight "This one went for a shit in the woods when we found him. After we grabbed him we covered our tracks well."

"What of his lord?"

"Drinking and whoring" answered another pale acolyte "No one will notice this one's absence for a while."

While the pale outlaw performed his 'duties' on the Lannister soldier, Dwight and a few other acolytes acted upon some information they had ruthlessly extracted from a few of their less fortunate prisoners and made a stealthy raid upon a Lannister camp and snatched up a servant of one of the lords tasked by House Lannister to lead the raiding parties in the Riverlands.

The outlaw had hoped for one of Clegane's men, but this one will do.

"Excellent!" the Laughing Prince commended.

The pale outlaw knelt down, meeting the servant's gaze. "Do you wish to live?" asked the Laughing Prince.

The frightened man nodded.

"Do you wish more than anything to live?"

More nodding.

"Would you do anything, and I mean anything, to earn the right to live a little longer?"

The servant nodded furiously, tears welling up in his eyes.

A sinister look crossed the outlaw's features that unsettled some of the acolytes.

"Oh my dear fellow…you and I are going to be good friends, I can tell," said the outlaw ominously as a gleeful smile formed on his face.

* * *

Jon and Sam found Victor in the common room, staring down at his bowl of stew blankly. The ranger was dressed like a brother of the Night's Watch once more, though his face was still a pale grey, giving him the look of a dead body.

Jon felt a little nervous around the man. After finding his cold, frost covered body near the grove of weirwood trees when they took their oaths and after Maester Aemon tended to him, everyone, including Jon, Sam and Leonard, were certain that Victor was dead.

However, a few nights before, Mick came across Victor wandering around the courtyard of Castle Black.

When questioned, the ranger told them that he awoke in the dead of night, in a room filled with corpses and was confused as to how he ended up back in Castle Black. Almost everyone at Castle Black was glad to see Victor up and about but they all kept a distance from the risen ranger.

The prevailing theory was that Victor must've slipped into a death like sleep because of the cold and when he was locked up in the Lord Commander's tower, the frozen ranger warmed up. Most chose to believe it, knowing how the cold can affect a man.

However, deep down, they all knew that Victor wasn't in a death like sleep. Victor was dead and he arose in the night and walked out of that locked room.

Speaking of the Lord Commander's tower, Ghost had sensed something was wrong the night Victor was discovered by Mick. The white direwolf led Jon to the tower where they encountered one of the bodies that were found with Victor in the forest, alive and had unnaturally blue eyes that seemed to glow in the faint lantern light. The frost encrusted corpse attacked Jon.

The steward fought him off but saw that no matter what he did, the body kept moving as if the wounds inflicted upon him had no effect. Jon ended up setting the tower ablaze, injuring his hand in the process but it alerted Lord Commander Mormont and destroyed the wight.

The following morning, the Lord Commander was furious about the fire but he was grateful that his steward was able to kill the wight. He also gave instructions to Jon and Sam to keep an eye on Victor and report anything strange to him.

Thus far, the miraculously resurrected ranger carried on like normal, tending to his duties at Castle Black like any other brother of the watch and showed up for duty on the Wall at night with Leonard or another man the Lord Commander had tasked specifically to keep an eye on Victor.

The only oddities that Jon saw were that Victor barely touched his food at meal times and that the ranger asked to stay out longer on his watch. He also seemed completely unaffected by the cold as well. There were a few instances where Jon or Sam saw Victor going about his day wearing less layers than most others.

When asked about it, Victor merely shrugged and said that he felt fine.

Leonard appeared at Sam's side, carrying a bowl of hot meat and broth and suggested that they join Victor and act casual, instead of standing around and gawking like children.

The two stewards nodded and the three went to join Victor.

As they got closer, Jon felt the warmth in the air of the common room wane as they drew closer to Victor, despite the roaring fire filling the large room with revitalizing warmth. Jon felt a light chill when they reached the table and drew his cloak around him.

"M-mind if we join you?" asked Sam.

The ranger looked up and blinked "Uh…of course."

Jon, Sam and Leonard sat.

Leonard started eating his stew while Jon and Sam lightly played around with their food, each awkwardly keeping an eye on Victor. Mick arrived and plopped down on the bench beside the pale ranger.

After a few long moments of awkward silence, Mick spoke through a mouthful of bread. "What's it like?" the burned man asked.

The ranger's long, grim face adopted a confused expression "What?"

"What's it like? Out there, beyond the wall, beyond the haunted forest."

"Oh," Victor said, understanding. "Well…its beautiful, though desolate. You're out there…far beyond civilization, beyond everything really. There's no one around for miles. Its quite beautiful but it is dangerous and very cold."

"What about Wildlings?" asked Leonard "Did you encounter any out there?"

Victor's blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully then shook his head. "Not that I remember. I remember that we came upon a few villages but they were all empty."

"Empty?" echoed Sam.

Victor nodded slowly "Yes…I remember that Benjen and some of the other rangers were coming upon empty Wildling camps and villages in the past. From the looks of things, the ones we came across were recently abandoned and in a hurry. It's sort of eerie. There were people there mere weeks before according to our reports."

"What happened to them?" asked Leonard.

Victor shrugged "I don't know. None of us knew for certain of where they were going or what had happened but there was one thing we knew for sure…something is coming…something terrible enough to make the Wildlings flee."

Silence fell upon the group. Sam looked a little nervous, while Jon and Leonard considered the ranger's words carefully and Mick was gnawing away at his heel of bread. A moment or so passed then Jon asked, "What happened out there? What happened to my uncle Benjen and the others?"

Victor thought for a moment then slowly shook his head "I…I'm not entirely sure. I remember that we set out from Castle Black. We were planning on passing through Craster's keep but decided against it. A day or so later we came across those empty villages. I remember sitting by the fire with Jafer Flowers and Othor, discussing with Benjen where we should go. We eventually came to agree on pressing northward towards the Frostfangs, following a trail left by some Wildlings. It got colder and colder, the nights grew longer and more lonesome…."

Jon noticed Victor gripping his cup tightly, his expression growing distant as if he were somewhere else.

"My memory is hazy but I certainly remember the cold…" Victor continued, "the cruel, unrelenting cold…seeping into my skin and chilling my heart. I remember shadows, all around us. Jafer was calling out and Othor screamed. I tumbled from my horse and looked for my weapon and I remember Benjen shouting something. After that I remember stumbling blindly through darkness and…nothing."

The ranger's grip on his cup eased and his attention returned to the common room and to his fellow crows. He sighed, "The next thing I remember is waking up in that room with Jafer and Othor's bodies. I got out of that room and found Mick. I wish I can remember more but…I'm sorry..."

Jon's felt his heart sink. Noticing the steward's expression, Victor apologized "I'm sorry, truly I am. I wish I can remember more but I just remember fragments and feelings. However, if its any consolation, I feel that Benjen may still be alive."

Mick grunted, "He's right. Benjen is a damn good ranger. If anyone can survive alone beyond the Wall, its Benjen Stark."

"Indeed" chimed Leonard "Besides, the Watch has friends beyond the Wall. Well…friends is a strong term but the point is that Benjen is probably alive and well somewhere and is trying to make his way back now."

Jon nodded, feeling a little bit of hope rising within him.

"Its good to have you back, Victor" Leonard said.

"Thank you, Leonard" said the ranger, grinning "Its good to be here. I never thought I would see the Wall nor Castle Black again. I'm glad to be back again."

The five sat about and talked in between mouthfuls until a man arrived saying that Maester Aemon wanted to see Victor. The ranger left, leaving his bowl of untouched food and cup of water behind.

Once the ranger was gone from the common room, Leonard looked to Mick. "He's hiding something," said the former thief

"I agree" said the burned man.

Jon gave Leonard a look "What do you mean?"

"I like to pride myself in knowing when someone is lying to me" said Leonard, tracing the inside of his half-empty bowl with his spoon "And I can say with certainty that Victor is hiding something."

"But what could he possibly be hiding?" asked Sam.

The former thief shook his head slowly "I don't know, but after what happened with Othor's frozen body getting up and attacking our dear bastard of Winterfell, I'm not taking any chances with any more of these 'miraculous' returns."

"Huh…" murmured Mick, who was studying the inside of Victor's cup closely.

"What is it?" asked Leonard.

Mick held up the cup and tipped it sideways. Jon expected water to pour out onto the table but he was surprised to see a solid block of ice, shaped like the inside of the wooden cup, land on the table's surface. Eerie silence filled the space between the crows.

The four brothers of the Night's Watch stared at the block of solid water then looked at each other, as if to discover an explanation from one another but each were just as speechless as the other.

* * *

Tyrion stood in the spacious hall, wearing fetters and anxiously awaiting the trial by combat to begin. Though he was a prisoner, the Lannister dwarf was left relatively alone. A guard lurked nearby but he didn't seem to be worried about the dwarf doing anything.

Lady Lysa didn't seem too worried either. The High Hall was abuzz with chatter and activity.

On the other side of the long, austere hall, close to the weirwood throne up on the balcony overlooking the hall, Tyrion could make out the form of Lady Lysa Arryn, dressed in the colors of House Arryn, holding court with a flock of her suitors who seem to hang on her every word.

The dwarf watched as the nobles of the Vale each tried to capture the attention of their Lady all the while dining on an assortment of fruits, lemon cake and cider. Tyrion felt his mouth water at the sight of food but he remained composed, not hinting what he was feeling at the moment. Sitting in the Sky cells had certainly weakened Tyrion and the food didn't help either, but it did give him time to think.

After speaking with the skinny young Maester of the Eyrie, Tyrion decided that he had to save himself.

The dwarf of Lannister had had his fill of being stuck in the cold, slanted Sky cells and the beatings he received from Mord. He wasn't strong enough or large enough to overpower Mord or fight his way out of the Eyrie, which meant he had to talk his way out. He knew that Lady Lysa was vain and was so desperate to pin this fraudulent crime on Tyrion that he knew that she would want to make a show of it before the entire Vale, all thanks to Maester Crane who all but confirmed it during their talk, through some off handed comments of the good Lady's sleepless nights and her paranoia.

He was a strange young man, Maester Crane, but Tyrion was glad for a bit of polite company to break up the monotony of lying in the cold cells and the pain of Mord's visits. When he announced that he was ready to confess, and enticing Mord with the promise of silver to secure an audience, Lysa Arryn summoned Tyrion to the High Hall and demanded to hear him confess his crime before the assembled court of the Vale.

Tyrion, irritated by the foul treatment he received in the Eyrie, made a joke of the proceedings until Lysa got mad and wanted to throw the dwarf into a smaller cell with a steeper floor. One thing led to another and Tyrion demanded trial by combat.

That earned a few laughs from the crowd and a few eager knights offered their services for their lady.

Tyrion, meanwhile, chose his brother the Kingslayer as his champion but Lysa reminded Tyrion that his brother was many miles away. Amongst the assorted nobles, servants and other guests of the Eyrie, Tyrion hoped someone would step forward to fight on his behalf. Fortunately, his prayer was answered in the form of the sellsword named Bronn.

The whole ordeal was set for the very next morning and Tyrion spent one last night in the Sky cell, contemplating whether it would be his last because his champion would win the duel or would it be his last because Bronn was going to lose and that Tyrion was going to be chucked through the infamous Moon Door.

The Lannister dwarf blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. He saw that Lady Catelyn had arrived at the High Hall with her uncle the Blackfish and a stoic looking bald man. Judging from the expression on Lady Stark's face, the situation beyond the Vale must be worse than anticipated.

If Tyrion was right, either Jaime or Tywin were stirring up trouble in the Riverlands or something more destructive right about now, probably in retaliation for his imprisonment.

The chatter and laughter died as Ser Vardis Egen, Lady Lysa's champion, arrived in the hall. Every inch of him was covered in plate save for the narrow slit in his helmet's visor and carried a kite shield bearing the sigil of House Arryn. The knight looked ready to fight, while Bronn on the other hand, was the opposite. The sellsword wore less protective clothing than his opponent. He was dressed in a tunic with ring mail over boiled leather and was carrying only his sword with him.

Tyrion felt a little nervous.

He had faith in the sellsword's abilities, having seen him in action on the road to the Eyrie, but the dwarf silently prayed that his champion knew what he was doing. Lady Lysa, her entourage, Lady Catelyn and the rest gathered and the septon called upon the gods to officiate over the fight and made a prayer over the two warriors.

"Looks to be an interesting fight," remarked a soft voice.

Tyrion looked up to his left and saw the bald man who entered the High Hall with Lady Catelyn. The man sat in a small chair, holding a lemon cake in one hand and a cup of cider in the other. From the aquiline face and piercing green eyes, the dwarf mistook him for one of Lady Lysa's sycophantic bannermen but upon closer inspection of the sigil on sewn into the breast of his tunic; he saw that the man was actually a lord from the Riverlands and a prominent one at that.

On the lord's green tunic was the golden eagle of House Luthor.

Though he wasn't very knowledgeable with families from the Riverlands, Tyrion was certainly familiar with that sigil. In fact, most people in the Seven Kingdoms have probably seen the eagle of House Luthor at least once in their lifetime.

House Luthor had a reputation for being an old and frugal family. If a list were a list comprised of only the wealthiest men in all of Westeros, Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish would be edging each other out for the top spot with Alexander Luthor resting comfortably in second place.

House Luthor amassed its wealth through trade over the many long years of its existence. Whenever there are goods being ferried up or down the Trident or whenever there is business being done in the region, the Luthors can be found nearby making a humble profit. They are staunch supporters of House Tully and have a castle a few miles down river from Riverrun, a modest looking keep of stone, vines and moss, which earned the keep the apt name of Mosswood Hall.

With Lord Hoster's health failing, most of his lordly duties were delegated to his son and brother, though the issue of commerce and enforcing the law more or less fell to House Luthor, due to their devotion to the ancient house and to the law.

The eagle on the man's tunic looked more intimidating than the fish of House Tully, with it majestically soaring through green while clutching a purple arrow in its talons, looking proud as if it weren't afraid of any predator that may be stalking close by.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Tyrion softly, trying not to disrupt the septon's prayers "I'm certainly hope that it will be entertaining at least. Should I die, than I'll die amused"

The man nodded slowly "Yes, though I believe the odds of you dying by sword or by flying will be quite slim. If I were a gambling man, I would wager that you would die at a much later time."

Tyrion frowned at the man. The emerald clad lord nodded towards Ser Vardis and Bronn. The half-man followed his gaze.

The septon had finished with his praying and had made a quick exit. Two servants tended to the two combatants, helping them make final preparations. The dwarf noticed the servant tending to Ser Vardis was presenting an ornate looking sword to the armored knight. He hesitated for a moment but after looking to his lady, who gave him an encouraging look, accepted the sword.

Tyrion's frown deepened as he watched the knight draw the sword. The sword was a fine piece of steel but the dwarf noticed that the blade was double edged. He watched as the knight weigh the sword in his hand, testing it a little and noticed that Ser Vardis looked almost visibly uncomfortable.

If Tyrion didn't know any better, the knight looked like he was having difficulty with his blade.

As the two combatants took their places, with Ser Vardis lowering the visor of his helmet and Bronn declining the one offered to him, Lord Luthor remarked "There are many parts to a battle and many things that can ensure victory or defeat. It only takes a single misstep to turn the tide either in your favor or against you. I have been in a few engagements where there had been such moments and I believe that this is one of those moments."

"Indeed" agreed Tyrion.

Lord Luthor, his mouth partially covered by his cup, murmured, "Ser Vardis is a good knight and a capable warrior but I fear that even a knight of his skill will have difficulty wielding a ceremonial blade."

Tyrion's eyebrows rose. He looked at the man. "Ceremonial?"

Luthor nodded "The blade was Jon Arryn's but he only used it on ceremonial occasions."

"Why would he fight with such a blade?" asked Tyrion. He knew that Lady Lysa was paranoid and bordering on hysterical, but he never thought her foolish.

A hint of a smile tugged at Luthor's lips "I believe, if I heard Lady Lysa correctly, that it would seem fit to have Ser Vardis avenge her husband with his blade."

Tyrion shrugged "I suppose it is poetic, a bit too dramatic, but what could've possessed her to do such a thing."

A full smile took shape on Luthor's face, his green eyes glimmering like jewels "I believe that a childhood friend and former confidant of hers may have proposed the idea."

Tyrion looked at the emerald clad lord in surprise. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why would this…childhood friend suggest such a thing? He, or she, should know that Ser Vardis's chances of victory would plummet."

"True, it seems treacherous for a close friend to do such a thing. However, say that you had a friend…a friend you grew up with and cared for like a sibling. Now consider that you watched that friend descend into unfathomable depths of lunacy, sorrow and isolation, that said friend is now a liability, not only to their own well being but to everyone around them. Especially in the matters of current events that are occurring beyond his or her own dominion."

Tyrion frowned, half-listening to Luthor's words and half-watching the duel that unfolded before him. The silent hall had already filled with the sound of steel clashing against steel and a few cheering for Ser Vardis. Bronn was quick on his feet, gracefully dodging his opponent's swipes.

As the duel progressed, Tyrion noticed that Ser Vardis was growing winded with his movements growing slower. Young lord Robert complained about Bronn's evasive tactics and his mother assured him that the sellsword couldn't run all day. Tyrion agreed but he knew what the sellsword was doing and saw that it was working.

The dwarf glanced sideways at Luthor "This childhood friend you mentioned could get in a lot of trouble"

Luthor shrugged "Maybe, but with the Riverlands in flames, a pale lunatic gathering a sizable following and the peace of the realm in jeopardy, a bit of bad advice seems rather trivial in comparison."

"Could your friend not appeal to the crown?"

Luthor snorted, "While the Riverlands are drowning in blood and our dear lady of the Vale is playing games, our good king has croaked and they're too busy arresting alleged traitors and fretting about succession."

Tyrion blinked in surprise. Things were worse than he thought.

"I don't mean to insult your intelligence but it would seem the easiest solution would be to bend the knee, or convince the rest of the Riverlands to kneel and then maybe some semblance of order could be restored"

"True, but there is the matter of Ned Stark's imprisonment and his young pups."

"Right".

Luthor and Tyrion silently watched the rest of the match. Ser Vardis was losing though the assembled crowd cheered him on. Unfortunately, the fight was nearing its inevitable conclusion, one that the two nobles saw coming.

"I suppose that has always been their weakness, at least the weakness of all nobles" Luthor mused.

"What weakness?" asked Tyrion

"Frivolity" Luthor answered "Well…not really frivolity but…it just seems like a distraction, all this. It's not very practical, isn't it? All these complicated games, these protocols, wars and strife, all distractions, blinding them to the most important thing in this world."

"Oh?"

"Survival."

Tyrion cocked an eyebrow "Survival?"

Luthor nodded "That is something all children in House Luthor learn from a young age, do everything within your power to ensure your survival. No platitudes, no games, just protect that which is yours and survive in this cruel and unforgiving world."

Tyrion glanced sideways and saw that Luthor was looking right into his eyes. His face was hard and grim. "I care nothing for fealty or successions, I care only for three things: peace, my people and my profits. If a man were to hinder or cause any degree of harm to any of the three, I will do whatever it takes to ensure the survival of those three, even if I have to…negotiate with people outside of my usual company."

Tyrion felt his flesh crawl a little. The river lord's tone was sharp like steel and each word felt like a needle pricking his flesh.

Tyrion nodded in agreement "I agree."

A chorus of frustrated and anguished cries interrupted the two.

Tyrion looked and saw that Ser Vardis was gone and that Bronn was standing triumphant with a blood soaked blade. Lady Lysa looked mortified and young Robert Arryn was confused.

The dwarf blinked. That happened rather quickly. He looked to Luthor, who reclined in his chair, not at all saddened by what neither happened nor at all surprised.

* * *

Following the duel, there was a bit of tension. The assembled court of the Vale was crying out to kill Tyrion and Bronn for an apparent lack of honor during the fight and Lady Lysa looked inclined to do as they suggest.

Fortunately, the will of the gods was on Tyrion's side.

Lady Lysa had Tyrion freed from his shackles. Tyrion fulfilled his promise to Mord and gave him a purse full of silver coins.

As Bronn and Tyrion left the hall filled with angry nobles and courtiers, the dwarf noticed Luthor, who was now lingering near Lady Catelyn's side.

In the shadows behind him, was a pale young woman with muddy brown hair. She had a round face, dark eyes and was dressed in the colors of House Luthor.

Luthor's face, though smooth and emotionless, had the qualities of a fearsome predatory bird staring down an inferior specimen.

Tyrion knew that he was a minor river lord with a bit of gold and had done him a favor in exchange for one with a hint of a threat for good measure.

Normally such a thing would be replied with a shrug or a retaliatory threat but deep down the dwarf knew that there was more to Luthor than what his exchange had provided him. The bald man could either be a valuable ally or a dangerous threat.

Tyrion hoped to make good on his debt to the riverlord and hopefully save the realm from this mess that his family has created.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **(a/n: Again, sorry for the wait. I hoped you enjoyed this. DC characters appearing in this chapter: The Joker, Heatwave, Captain Cold, Lex Luthor, Mr. Freeze and Mercy Graves. Until next time!)**


	8. Pt 8: In the Name of the King (2)

**(a/n: This took a little longer than expected but please enjoy!)**

* * *

Part 8: In the Name of the King (2)

Arya contemplated her situation as she wandered aimlessly down the crowded Street of Flour with the pigeon she had just killed hanging limply in her hand. It had been a few days since her life unraveled at the seams.

She remembered that she was with Syrio Forel when a group of five red-cloaked Lannister guardsmen arrived with Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard leading them. He ordered that Arya come with them to go see her father.

Arya thought nothing of it and was about to follow the knight but Syrio stopped her. He asked why would her father send Lannister men and not his own.

It was then that her life was turned upside down.

Ser Meryn claimed that he could be trusted, since he was a member of the Kingsguard but Arya was beginning to see that something was terribly wrong.

Ser Meryn dispensed with the farce and ordered his men to grab her but Syrio intervened. Armed with only the practice sword, Syrio broke the fingers of one Lannister guardsman and fended off another. The young Stark was amazed at Syrio's speed and skill. As she watched him fight, Arya realized that the swordsman was far better than she imagined. Having killed or maimed the five guardsmen, Ser Meryn Trant joined the battle.

The Bravosi swordsman landed many blows but the wooden sword was useless against the knight's heavy plate armor. Having been entranced by Syrio's swordsmanship and blinded by the faint hope that her teacher could best the guardsmen and the knight, Arya was brought back to reality when Syrio order her to run and find her father.

Arya saw the wooden sword break and fear took hold, forcing her to flee like a frightened rabbit.

She tore through the kitchens, her heart hammering away and sweat starting to flow. The young Stark would've been completely out of her mind if she didn't focus on the words that Syrio hammered into her skull. "Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake and calm as still water…"

She also heeded his advice in being unpredictable. After working her way through the cellars and crawling out a window, Arya worked her way towards the Tower of the Hand. The door at the foot of the tower was reduced to splinters and one of her father's guards was lying dead nearby. Sounds of fighting could be heard nearby, so Arya went in the opposite direction.

The rest of her time in the Red Keep was like a nightmare that only got worse. She found a few more of her father's own men dead. One was still alive and his last words were telling her to warn her father.

When she tried to saddle her mare and escape, a stable boy tried to stop her but ended up with Needle in his belly.

Arya was still reeling from that encounter. She had killed someone. The young Stark tried to justify it by telling herself that it was either her life or his. But no matter how she tried to justify it, Arya still felt a twinge of guilt with the memory of the dying boy repeating in her mind over and over again.

Arya abandoned her efforts of saddling her horse, knowing that the gates will be shut by now. She slowly made her way across the yard toward the sept, hiding Needle in a cloak she put on. Successfully reaching the royal sept, Arya swiped some candles and, after swallowing her fears, fled into the tunnels. Arya successfully escaped the Red Keep and melted into the crowded streets of King's Landing.

So far she successfully avoided the gold cloaks and any other prying eyes but escaping from the city itself has thus far proven to be impossible. All seven gates were under tight guard, being opened only to allow people in. Lannister guardsmen carefully inspected anyone who wished to leave the capital. There was the river but the river's currents would be too much for her to swim in and she couldn't afford to hire someone to ferry her out of the city. The docks were also out of the question.

There was a ship moored there with a few men dressed like some of her father's men. However, remembering what happened up at the Red Keep and Syrio's teachings, Arya paused and carefully considered this seemingly perfect opportunity to escape. Arya didn't recognize any of those men and she knew the names and faces of the men that came down with her father and herself from the North. The young Stark decided to try her luck elsewhere just to be safe.

The capital was abuzz with rumors over what was happening in the Red Keep. Some of the smallfolk whisper that Lord Renly killed his brother and has fled, while others believe that the king died on a boar hunt or even died while eating a boar.

Regardless of the tale, one thing was certain: King Robert was dead.

With no money and nowhere to go, Arya found herself a quiet, though very filthy, alley and slept. Unfortunately it wasn't nearly as quiet as it appeared.

While she slept, Arya had been robbed. The unknown thieves took what little trinkets she had off of her and what little clothing she brought with her out of the castle. Fortunately, she still had Needle, which she slept on top of that evening, and her wooden practice sword.

During the day, as hunger started to settle in, she hunted rats and pigeons for food, which proved to be much easier than catching cats in the Red Keep.

She encountered other children on the streets, all of them of various ages and covered in equally various degrees of filth. Most of the children steered clear of her, as if she had a deadly illness. A few children ran away from her. Some older children tried to rob her but Arya drove them off with a few solid strikes from her wooden sword.

All in all, Arya wanted very badly to leave this wretched city but with each new day, the chances of escaping seemed to be shrinking.

Arya blinked, snapping out of her reverie and tried thinking of what she was going to do now. She tried trading this dead pigeon for some tarts a man was selling but he shooed her away. There was the option of stealing but the man nodded towards some gold cloaks nearby, which ended any thought of thievery.

Perhaps she could trade the dead pigeon for something tastier over at the pot shops in Flea Bottom. Arya passed by them once and immediately got the feeling that she should steer clear of the place. From the people hanging about outside and from the brief glimpse of the inside she caught, Arya felt that it would be just as dangerous as surrendering to the gold cloaks. On the other hand, she didn't have the means or the know how to cook this bird.

The young Stark girl considered her options carefully. Her eyes flicked about and noticed an increasing presence of gold cloaks. Arya kept her head low and averted her eyes. She considered making her way down the street to her right, away from the gold cloaks and the crowd but the young girl came to an abrupt halt, almost tripping up the people trudging closely behind her.

Up ahead, standing a head taller than most of the crowd, Arya saw the sellsword she met at the Red Keep, Slade.

The sellsword had emerged from a building on that street, dressed in his black wool and leather. His grey cloak was draped on his shoulders. Arya easily recognized him from the odd black and orange helm he was wearing, which made him stick out like a drunk in a sept.

The large sellsword looked about him, his lone blue eye roved about the crowded street carefully like a predatory bird searching for its prey. The young Stark felt her heart thud slowly. Was he looking for her as well? If he saw her, will he kill her right on the spot or take her back to the Red Keep? A hundred different thoughts raced through her mind like lightning until Arya decided that no matter what, she should avoid Slade.

The young girl continued on at a slow pace, carefully trying to hide her face and use the flow of the crowded street to shield her from the sellsword's view.

Once she was certain that Slade was no longer in view, Arya ducked down a side street and picked up the pace.

Looks like she was going to Flea Bottom after all.

* * *

The pot shops were on a narrow muddy lane.

It was considerably less crowded and a little quieter in this part of King's Landing, though the smells made Arya gag. She passed a tanner's shed and a few winesinks. There was a whorehouse down an adjacent lane to her left where it was buzzing with activity like a beehive.

Arya paused for a moment to consider where she was going. The young Stark had been down this way only once before and rather briefly.

King's Landing was not a very hospitable place, but from her brief exploration into Flea Bottom a few days before, Arya could honestly say that Flea Bottom was even less welcoming. From the unpaved, maze like streets to the rather unsavory looking people, Arya felt even less safe than she did when she was escaping the Red Keep.

After a few mistaken turns, Arya accidentally found what she was looking for.

The pot shop was wedged between two shabby looking buildings with smoke and sound spilling out from its chimney and windows. She took deep breath and plunged into the dark and noisy din of the pot shop with a hand on the hilt of Needle under her cloak and her mind focused on the dangers that possibly waited in front.

* * *

The inside of the pot shop was loud, dim and unbearably hot. Crammed within an old building of sun-bleached bricks, were a dozen tables that were packed tight with raggedy looking patrons. Huge tubs of steaming, bubbling brown liquid were off to one end of the shop with a few cooks tending to it, dumping in spices and other ingredients and stoking the flames that kept the liquid warm. Thin fingers of sunlight poked through some holes in the ceiling above, aiding the faint candlelight and windows in illuminating the interior.

Arya stood stock still, drinking in the interior of the shop. It wasn't a very pleasant looking place but if it helps her hide from Slade and the gold cloaks, then it will have to do.

Several newcomers rudely shoved past her as they entered the shop. They ignored her complaints and made a beeline for the huge tubs of boiling liquid. Arya followed and she saw them offering some ingredients like some old looking vegetables and a small fish. The young Stark girl blinked in surprise as a man brush past her and offered a pair of large dead rats.

The cooks accepted them without question and rewarded them with bowls of the brown liquid which, according to one of the recipient, was aptly called bowl o' brown.

Arya did as they did and she received a steaming bowl o' brown herself.

The young Stark carefully selected a place at a table close to the door, not too close just in case any gold cloaks came barging in. She sat next to a large, hairy man who was talking rather loudly to the man sitting across from him. Arya stared at her bowl for a long while. The bowl of stew looked rather unappealing, what with the smell, the color and the thin layer of grease on it. Small lumps floated on the surface of the broth, which she poked lightly with her spoon in an attempt to sort out what could be a descent bit of fish or a lump of rat meat.

Though she yearned for the food of the Red Keep and Winterfell, Arya's hunger won out and she gulped down a spoonful. The taste caused her face to twist a little. It wasn't bad but it was far from being delicious. She could taste some onion, carrot and a bit of turnip. With some salt and something to wash it down, Arya's meal would've been a little more tolerable.

As she ate, Arya couldn't help but shake this eerie feeling that she was being watched. The young Stark looked about her.

The pot shop was still packed to the brim with the poor and unsavory of King's Landing. There were some eyes upon her but they didn't linger for very long. Most seemed to take one look at her and moved on, however there were some who were staring at her for longer than she was comfortable with.

The young Stark girl gulped down the last of her stew and left.

* * *

Outside, Arya walked briskly away from the pot shop and tried making her way back to the more crowded and less dangerous parts of King's Landing. Unfortunately, the young Stark got turned around and wound up facing a dead end.

Arya turned to double back but wound up staring down a tall, lanky man with a rat like face. A pair of unnaturally skinny boys flanked the man.

They both looked about Robb's age but it was hard to tell due to the patches of facial hair and grime on their faces. The young Stark's hand retreated under her cloak and touched Needle's hilt, her heart thumped at an accelerated rate.

The rat-faced man gave her a crooked smile. "You lost, girl?" asked the man, his voice high and reedy.

"N-no" Arya replied, trying to hide her anxiety "I'm just looking for someone."

The man tilted his head "Really? Perhaps we can help. I make it my business to know everyone in Flea Bottom."

Arya shook her head "No, thank you but I can find my way, so if you could please step aside…" She moved to walk past but none of the three strangers moved.

The young girl scowled at the man and his companions "I really can't stay, please…stand aside" she said, her voice carried an edge but the three strangers didn't seem to be intimidated.

"Please?" cooed one of the rat-faced man's companions "Really polite this one"

"Indeed" agreed the other.

"What's your hurry?" asked the rat man in a honeyed voice "Got places to be?"

"Yes!" said Arya, again attempting to bypass the three but again was blocked.

"Now see, I don't believe you" the rat man said, looming over the young Stark eerily "From the looks of you and the sound of your speech, I say that you're not from here. I say that you're a long way from home, Northerner."

Arya felt her mouth go dry and she stepped backwards. The three advanced slowly, a step at a time.

"I would also say that from your attire, you're someone of great importance" the rat man explained "And it just so happens that, according to a good friend of mine in the castle, the wife of our dear king is looking for a northern girl who may or may not still be in the city."

Arya's eyes narrowed. So the Lannisters were looking for her and instead of Slade, she has to deal with this creepy rat looking man and his two cohorts. She didn't know who would be worse but judging the expressions of the rat man's friends, Arya was starting to wish that Slade discovered her first.

"Imagine the queen's surprise when she sees you again" said the man, grinning eerily "Unfortunately, she didn't specify what condition you needed to be in." The rat man's companions leered at her, which sent a shudder of disgust running through Arya.

"So which brings us to this juncture" said the man with a flourish of his hand "Will you be a good little girl and come along quietly. We promise that we won't hurt you…much. Or shall we drag what's left of you to the Red Keep in a sack."

Arya was certainly not going to go quietly. She said nothing and merely took a step back in an attempt to put distance between them but quickly ended up bumping into solid wall.

The rat man snickered "Hard way it is then". He nodded and his two companions stepped forward. Arya's hand tightened around Needle.

Before she could draw her weapon, there was a loud crack, followed by a thud that was muffled by the wet squish of mud. The lanky teenagers stopped and looked back. Arya looked and they saw the rat man lying face down in the mud with a mud-spattered boy standing over him, wielding a heavy looking chunk of wood.

The boy looked to be a year or so older than Arya and a few inches taller. His blue eyes were narrowed threateningly. The boy leveled his crude weapon at the two "Back away from the girl"

"Piss off, we saw 'er first" growled one of the teenagers.

The boy shook his head "I can't do that. I'm going to have to ask you to hand her over and go on your merry way."

"You're going to what?" sneered the other teen

"What's it to you?" asked the first.

The boy nodded at Arya "She's with me." The two gave him and Arya strange looks.

"How so?" asked the first teen.

"She's my sister," explained the boy, speaking in a casual manner "My poor, naïve, simple sister Mary." Arya scowled at the boy and wanted to tell him to shut his face but he gave her a look that told her to keep quiet, so she bit her tongue and kept quiet.

He continued, "You see, we caught wind of this missing northern girl business from a friend over on the Street of Seeds. Some gold cloaks came looking and asking questions. We decided to jump at the chance for some gold. We searched and searched and all we found was some boots and noble's clothes near Eel Alley."

The boy shook his head "The northern girl must've changed clothes and must be hiding somewhere in the city. Although we didn't find the girl, her belongings were just laying there, so Mary decided to help herself and go off on her own. Why? I have no idea, probably with some foolish scheme in mind that would've gotten her killed. Fortunately you two found her before she did something she would've regretted."

The two teens stared at the boy for a few moments, absorbing his explanation.

Finally, one of the boys asked "Even if we believe you, what's to stop us from killing you and turning the girl in for the gold?"

"Nothing's stopping you," admitted the young boy "But I don't think the queen will believe that my simple minded sister is this…nobleman's daughter that she is looking for."

One of the boys looked at Arya then back to the boy "She kinda looks like a northerner…speaks like one too"

The boy waved a hand "Bah! People keep saying that I look like a Baratheon but I'm as lowborn as mud. I know a dozen people who look more like a northerner than her. Besides, anyone can talk like a northerner, watch." He cleared his throat and spoke in an exaggerated northern accent "Good day your majesty, I'm Lord Stark of Winterfell and I'm a bloody traitor. Would you like to go to bed with me?"

The two teenagers chuckled while Arya glared daggers at the boy who was making a mockery of her father and of the north.

"That is pretty good" admitted the second teen.

The boy shrugged "What can I say? I learned from the best. My sister learned a little from me but she's just an amateur. Besides, the girl you're looking for is a nobleman's daughter. A nobleman's daughter is supposed to be beautiful and not like some horse-faced runt."

Arya's grip on Needle's hilt grew tighter and her desire to cut this boy's throat rose.

The boy glanced back and then back to the two teens "Look, my mother is worried sick about her. How 'bout I take her home. I can get her cleaned up and we can sell the clothes, split the money between us and forget all about this mess. What do you say?"

The two teens looked at each other then to their fallen leader, the rat faced man, who was still lying on the cold, muddy ground.

The first teen frowned at the boy "I don't know Billy, _we_ might forget about this, but what about him?" he nodded to the rat man.

The young boy, named Billy, sighed deeply and nodded. He reached up and untied a bit of string that hung around his neck and pulled out small leather pouch that was hidden in the boy's rough spun shirt. He jiggled it in front of them, provoking a soft jingle of coins that made the two taller boys perk up.

"A little silver and some blame leveled at Spits can help him forget," said Billy. He proffered it as if he were offering a tasty treat to a starving dog.

Before the teenager could grab the pouch, Billy pulled it away. "First, my sister" said the boy, nodding to Arya.

The two teens shared a look then stepped aside. Billy gestured her to join him but Arya remained stock-still. The boy sighed deeply and stomped over to her, roughly grabbed her wrist and dragged her past the two teens. He stopped and looked at the two teens "Stubborn as a donkey" he said.

The teens stared at the two oddly but they seemed to believe the boy's lie. Billy tossed the pouch of coins to the first teen and bid them goodbye. Arya struggled against the boy's grip but he tugged her along gruffly and away from the two teens who helped their unconscious leader off of the muddy ground.

* * *

The boy led her through the winding alleys and roads of Flea Bottom. She asked where he was taking her, and he merely replied "away."

After a length of time and after she was certain that there was no one nearby, Arya pulled herself free from Billy's grasp and drew Needle from its hiding place.

Billy, looking surprised, raised his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry for what I said" apologized the boy "I did what I had to do"

"I don't care" snarled Arya "I'm not going back to the Red Keep"

"Fair enough" said Billy with a shrug "You're free to go."

Arya scowled at the boy "What?"

"I said you're free to go."

The young girl stood there looking dumbfounded.

"What? You wanted your freedom and now you have it," said Billy. He waved his hand "Go…run along now."

Arya glared at the boy. Was this part of some trick? Was this all apart of some elaborate scheme to capture her and take her back to the Red Keep? Keeping Needle aimed at the dirty boy's throat, Arya stepped away from him cautiously. Billy remained still, holding his hands up. A few more steps later and Arya looked about her, searching for any sign of gold cloaks or Lannister guards.

"You don't have to worry" Billy assured her "Nobody followed us and I'm certain those two thugs took the money and are planning on pissing it away at some winesink. As I said before, you're free to go…my lady."

Arya froze. She looked at Billy. Trying to mask her surprise, Arya sniffed "I don't know what you are talking about"

"Come off it" said Billy, rolling his eyes "You're the girl they were looking for, aren't you?"

"And what of it? Are you going to try to turn me in?"

"No. While the gold is tempting, I would not do something as awful as turning someone over to the gold cloaks."

Arya gave Billy a funny look.

Billy sighed and lowered his hands "I'm not your enemy. If you want to leave then leave but please be careful. King's Landing is a dangerous place filled with people who are not as friendly as my good self."

Arya rolled her eyes, "Thank you for your help but I can take care of myself"

"Is that what that was?" Billy remarked, "From what I saw, you were cornered by the Rat King and his boys, who were ready to do their nasty work on you."

"The who?"

"The Rat King, that funny looking man I just saved you from. He rules Flea Bottom and the sewers. Some say he's in league with the spider, Lord Varys. He snatches up orphans and fatherless girls and drags them down to the sewers and does Gods know what to them."

Arya saw Billy shiver and couldn't help but feel a chill crawl down her spine. The young Stark kept her weapon leveled at the mud spattered boy but she could feel that he was telling the truth. Flea Bottom was dangerous and it was a very foolish mistake to have ventured into this part of the city. That foolish decision had almost gotten her captured, or worse. She considered Billy's words carefully and slowly lowered Needle.

"You…you'll let me go?" asked Arya.

Billy nodded "I will, though it'd be better if you didn't go. King's Landing is even more dangerous now that the queen looking for you."

"What should I do then?" Billy smiled "You can come with me"

"Go with you?"

"To my home…we'll be safe there. A lot of children without families stay there and no one will notice you."

Arya gave the boy an odd look. She lifted Needle "If this is a trick or a trap, I swear I'll-"

"It isn't, I promise" Billy said solemnly "I give you my word."

Arya wanted to believe him but she still had a nagging sense of doubt in the back of her mind. Unfortunately, the young Stark girl didn't have any better options, which involved living in the gutter and possibly getting captured or killed. With some reluctance, Arya returned Needle to its place and accepted Billy's offer.

* * *

Some time after leaving Flea Bottom, Arya and Billy trudged up a narrow lane.

After hours of crisscrossing the city and ducking in and out of various alleys and side streets, Arya was considering abandoning Billy and strike out on her own. However, despite her complaints, the young Stark continued following the boy. They carefully avoided gold cloak patrols and any shifty looking characters that may be in the service of the crown.

The sun slowly descended, causing the sky to turn a peach color then a shade of pink. As they carried on up the lane, Arya blinked in surprise at some of the establishments they passed, which included some taverns and brothels.

Some of them appeared to be modest homes or humble buildings, however it was clear as to what they truly were. The brothels had ornate scarlet lamps hanging over the doors while the taverns had signs with strange names hanging over heir doors. As they walked past some of the busier ones, a combination of exotic spices, ale and music struck Arya as people entered and departed the various establishments. These places looked more expensive than the busy dens in Flea Bottom.

From a window of the second story of one of the brothels, a pretty woman with chestnut hair and brown eyes greeted Billy.

"Hello Rila!" Billy replied with a wave.

"Where've you been? Selina's has been worried sick"

"I-I was running an errand for Zucco down over on Eel Alley."

The woman quirked an eyebrow "Really? Now why would a nice boy like you be running errands for a dirty thief like Zucco?"

Billy chuckled nervously "I kinda owe him…he saved me from a nasty situation. He also promised me some silver."

The woman nodded slowly. Her eyes flicked to Arya and a small smile appeared on her face. "Who's your friend?"

"This is…Mary, she's a friend and only a friend." The woman nodded though it looked like she didn't believe Billy.

"She doesn't have a family or a place to stay" the boy continued "and the Rat King almost got her."

"Oh my!" Rila's eyes widened in shock, she looked at Arya "Well…the Seven must be looking after you if you encountered the Rat King and lived."

Arya smiled awkwardly "I-I suppose so."

The woman shook her head in disgust "Makes me sick. It's a damn shame the gold cloaks don't do anything about that wretched creature. It's a good thing that Billy found you. You don't need to worry about him, the boy is about as honest as Baelor the Blessed."

Arya noticed Billy's cheeks turn pink. Rila back over her shoulder and sighed, "I have to go now. Tell Selina thank you for me, about that gift she sent me"

"I will" said Billy.

The woman's head retreated into the house and Billy and Arya continued on their way.

The two children stopped outside a small house. The young Stark could hear the sound of voices and she could smell something delicious wafting out one of the windows. Arya was nervous and still felt that this was a trap but hunger and exhaustion won out.

* * *

Inside the house, Arya was surprised to find not a bunch of gold cloaks or Slade, but a warm and cozy home.

Off to her right, a group of almost a dozen children were sitting around a wooden table chattering and squirming on their stools. They were all dressed in ragged peasant clothing that looked patched up and had endured some hard times, but they all looked healthier and cleaner than the children the young Stark had encountered on the street in the last day or so.

The eldest among them was a boy near Sansa's age and the youngest was a girl who was barely older than Rickon.

To her left, Arya saw a tall, slender woman with dark hair tending to a plump chicken that hung over a small cooking fire. The young girl assumed that this must be the woman Billy and Rila mentioned, Selina.

The dark haired woman looked their way and Arya saw a mixture of relief and exasperation enter her surprisingly flawless features.

"Billy!" cried a voice.

A young dark haired girl ran over and embraced the mud-spattered boy. "Lyra" Billy said in greeting.

"Where have you been?" asked the woman, wiping her hands off on the front of her dress.

"N-nowhere, Selina…" mumbled the mud-spattered boy.

Selina quirked an eyebrow "Really?" she placed her hands on her hips "Then why are you covered in mud? And why did Dravor tell me that you didn't arrive to help him at the Street of Flour as we discussed?"

Silence fell on the entire household.

Arya watched as Billy, for the first time that day, fail to give an answer.

The woman's expression hardened "I looked everywhere for you. When I heard from Spits, of all people, that you were with Zucco, I was out of my mind with worry! Gods be good, you could've died or worse and there would've been nothing I could do to help you."

Billy stammered for an answer but failed. Arya remained silent, not wanting to get in the middle of what was going on.

The woman's anger seemed to cool and she adopted a more tender expression. Selina sighed "Billy…do you know how lucky you are to be taken on as an apprentice?"

"I know," mumbled the boy, looking down at his feet.

"I warned you countless times to stay away from scum like Zucco and Spits"

"I know but Zucco offered twice what Dravor would've paid me and all I had to do was carry a message for him."

The woman shook her head "I don't care if he offered you the bloody Iron Throne, you stay away from him. He's a liar, a thief and perhaps one of the most dangerous criminals in King's Landing. The kind of things he gets mixed up in is dangerous." Billy nodded again, mutely.

The woman went over to Billy, knelt down and looked him in the eye. "I'm not angry with you, but try to understand" Selina explained gently "I care about you and I don't want to have to watch you get hanged or imprisoned or be shipped off to the Wall for stealing bread or for running an errand for Zucco."

"I'm sorry," said Billy. Selina, smiled a little and she pulled him into an embrace. Billy hugged her back but when he noticed Arya staring at the two, he quickly disengaged, blushing furiously.

Selina looked at the young Stark. She sighed again and asked aloud "And what have you brought into my home this time, little kitten?"

"Selina!" Billy complained, while the children at the table giggled at his expense.

Billy explained what happened. He began after running his errand for this Zucco person and explained how he rescued her from the rat faced man and his two companions. Fortunately Billy omitted Arya's name, although he did let slip that there are people searching for her.

"She needs a place to stay for the night and some food" Billy said, concluding his epic tale.

Selina studied the young girl silently with her blue eyes sharp and emotionless, like a merchant studying a suspicious looking coin. Arya was certain that she was going to be back out on the street and was ready to apologize and see herself out. After a long moment of silence, the opposite happened.

Selina smiled and said, "I believe we can accommodate your friend, Billy."

Billy grinned and Arya felt a sense of relief wash through her. "You two arrived at the right time. Dinner is about ready."

Selina and the children were all crammed together around the table, eating feasting on a modest dinner of a fat, well-cooked and seasoned chicken, vegetables, cheese, bacon and warm bread. The children dug right in but Arya hesitated.

She sat there staring at the food. It was enough to feed Selina and the children but it looked meager in comparison to what Arya was used to. She felt rather guilty that she was intruding on their home and eating their food and even more guilty in that they could get swept up in her troubles with the gold cloaks and the Lannisters.

Selina must have known about this if the Rat King knew about her situation.

Despite this, Selina urged her to eat. "If you don't eat, you go hungry" said the woman "That's the way of things in this house."

Arya blinked and noticed the growing scarcity of food on the table. The young Stark quickly joined in and managed to save herself some chicken and bread. She devoured her dinner slowly, savoring each bite and thanked the Gods for this meal.

* * *

As Selina and the children ate, a figure observed them through the window from a hidden vantage point.

The man wrapped his cloak around his body tightly, shivering as the warmth of the day is slowly sapped away by the chill of night. Although there was still a considerable amount of warmth and summer left in Westeros, the man felt cold. The man always felt cold. He was never was truly comfortable in this country, or any country for that matter.

He could feel the slow, sinister march of winter approaching. With the cold comes the dark and with the dark comes all sorts of horror.

The man can sense that the winds are changing and that great and terrible forces are at work that are going to change the face of this land and the rest of the world very soon.

Which is why he was here.

The man had a mission to observe and report back to his superiors on the status of the people and situation in the west. He had already seen the smuggler and his son and he was there in that cavernous Great Hall and saw Stark's downfall. Things were certainly escalating at a quicker pace than the seer anticipated.

He was going to observe the northmen marshaling their forces in the north and then make his way towards Storm's End to observe what was occurring there but the Stark girl and the boy sidetracked him.

He silently observed the boy risking his life to save the girl and followed them back to their home. The girl was unimpressive looking, though she had potential for more.

If he was correct, then the boy had an even more marvelous fate waiting for him.

The man paused and noticed that someone else had taken an interest in the home and its occupants. Judging from his shape and smell, it was a man and was in his prime. This newcomer looked rather muscular and there was a chance that he was armed.

The man narrowed his eyes at this interloper. It would appear that one the queen's agents have found the girl but upon second glance, the man seemed more focused on the woman, the boy and the youngest of the children.

Some time passed and the second observer left his hiding place and disappeared from the view of the first.

The man felt uneasiness creep into his heart. This new development might be a problem. Using the special quill that his friends at the House gave him, the man hastily scribbled down what he had seen in the small tome that he carried in his sack.

After watching the children being shepherded to bed, the man pulled the hood up on his cloak. His business in the capital was over and he needed to leave.

Before vanishing into the night, the man took one last look at the house. He felt a pang of sympathy for the children and the woman but he couldn't do anything…yet.

For now had to hurry, there was still much to do before the tempest of blood and blade begins.

* * *

Bruce was relieved to see that they weren't too late.

Moat Cailin, the old fortress created by the First Men, rose ahead of them like an old gnarled hand. In the distance, he could see a sea of tents and pavilions of various sizes surrounding the fortress. Each of these tents gathered together under the banners of their respective houses.

A cold damp wind swept down from the north, causing Lord Wayne and his men to shiver.

"Feeling a bit cold, Lord Wayne?" japed Lady Catelyn as her horse came to halt beside his.

Bruce grinned at his liege Lord's wife "A little. But contrary to popular belief, it will take more than a little cold to stop me."

Catelyn smiled "I certainly hope so."

When they got closer, the two nobles got a better look at the over the vast, muddy field that surrounded Moat Cailin.

Most of Moat Cailin had long since rotted away with only three of the twenty towers still standing. Despite its ragged appearance, the fortress was still a formidable asset for the Starks and the north.

Lord Wayne had been spending time at home preparing for his hunt for the Laughing Prince but all that changed when he received a raven from Winterfell, summoning him to war.

Bruce had received news of what happened to Eddard Stark and was planning on paying a visit to King's Landing during his hunt, but it would seem fate has other things in mind. The countryside was on fire and people were being put to the sword. They needed the Dark Knight. While he could send his sons and his ward to go fight in the war, Bruce knew that the lords of the north needed him as Lord Wayne and not as the bat.

In the end, Lord Wayne did what was asked of him and readied himself and his entire House for war.

Battle never concerned Bruce. He had been in his fair share of skirmishes as the Dark Knight but what truly concerned him was the possibility of war. Although he had been a boy at the time of Robert's Rebellion, Bruce remembered all too well of the damage, the deaths and the heartache it wrought upon the Seven Kingdoms.

His father had fought on the side of Lord Stark and King Robert and had shared some of his experiences in the war. It wasn't until he was a man grown that Bruce knew the truth of what war and combat was truly like. After having some of his own experience in combat, Bruce could see why his father was reluctant and glum whenever people demanded that he tell the stories of how he fought alongside Ned Stark at the Battle of the Bells or some other engagement.

Although he was willing to ride to war along side his lord and fulfill his oath, Bruce was reluctant to get involved in a war that could grow to be far more devastating than Robert's Rebellion.

Despite his reluctance, Bruce was set on going and helping in whatever capacity, whether as a nobleman or as the rogue black knight. Hopefully Bruce could find an opportunity to done his dark armor and truly be of help.

During the course of preparations, a thought occurred to the nobleman. With Bruce, Richard and Jason gone, the only men of House Wayne that remained were Timothy and Damien. The two were of the were intelligent boys and with Alfred and Maester Arkham there to advise them, Bruce was confident that they would be fine in day to day matters but they needed an experienced warrior to mind the defenses of the Giant's Tooth. It was then that Lord Wayne made Ser Dent castellan and gave him command over five hundred men to guard the keep and their lands from possible Lannister raids.

The straw haired knight was eager to do his best and fulfill his duty to his lord and Bruce knew that he was fully capable. Bruce kissed his daughters farewell and gave his son words of encouragement then rode off to answer his liege's call.

Richard his ward, Jason his eldest as well as a host of six hundred men, including two hundred mounted and four hundred on foot, accompanied him.

On the road to Moat Cailin, Bruce and his men encountered Lady Catelyn, who was accompanied by Ser Brynden Tully, Ser Wylis and Wendel Manderly along with fifteen hundred men from White Harbor. Catelyn looked tired but was glad to see Lord Wayne and his host. The two decided to journey together to Moat Cailin and managed to reach the ancient fortress with excellent timing.

Lord Wayne ordered his sons and his men to set up camp near the fortress. Lady Catelyn did like wise and the two, along with Ser Brynden and the Manderlys, rode off to meet Robb, who was currently holding court with the other bannermen of House Stark in the Gatehouse tower.

Bruce drew his cloak about him as he and Catelyn entered the drafty hall.

The fortress seemed to moan as a damp wind tumbled through the gaping holes in the roof and walls, making it seem as if Moat Cailin was home to a horde of angry ghosts. The five found Robb sitting at the end of the hall, surrounded by those sworn to House Stark.

Bruce recognized them all from various feasts, tourneys and other encounters from over the years, Karstark, Umber, Bolton, Mormont and a few others. They were all gathered together, discussing strategy and other important things, not noticing Bruce and Catelyn arrival, unlike the large wolf.

Bruce was surprised to see the wolf and how it acted around the lordling. He had seen many things in his life but there always seems to be something new to surprise him.

Soon enough, Robb noticed their presence and the hall falls silent. The gathered lords noticed as well and they each paid their respects to Lady Catelyn, who in turn introduced her uncle, the Manderly brothers and Bruce.

"Glad to see that we were able to tear you away from that cozy little keep of yours" Greatjon Umber japed.

Bruce shrugged "I failed come up with a good enough excuse this time. However, now that I am here, you can all rest easy now."

Some of the other lords snorted or chuckled at his remark.

With pleasantries and formalities out of the way, the assembled lords, knights and lady, shifted their focus on to more pressing matters. Bruce listened as Catelyn admitted that she did indeed have the dwarf Tyrion Lannister captive but the Gods saw it fit to set him free with some help from Lady Lysa.

As the conversation carried on, Catelyn dismissed the bannermen and knights that were assembled, wishing to speak to her son alone.

As they filed out, Bruce spoke with Galbart Glover.

"Did I miss anything of great import?"

The older nobleman shook his head "Nothing that you probably have heard already." He explained Eddard Stark's downfall and imprisonment and the Lannister's holding his daughter's hostage. A letter from Sansa had reached Robb but it seemed to have been crafted by Cersei and is using the girl as a hostage. He also mentioned that they hoped the knights of the Vale would join their cause but Bruce deflated that hope.

The younger lord was still in contact with some of his mother's relatives in the Vale and from their letters, it seemed that Lady Lysa could care less about what happened beyond her domain.

Galbart shook his head in dismay. "The Riverlands aren't doing much better though," sighed the older lord.

"Is it that bad?" Bruce asked.

"Aye, Word is Ser Jaime Lannister had just smashed a force led by Lords Vance and Piper and is now advancing on Riverrun. Lord Tywin has amassed even greater force and is now marching to Harrenhal, burning everything as he goes."

Bruce murmured a curse. Things were worse than he had supposed. He had heard of Lannisters raiding and causing trouble, but it would seem that the war had already begun and the Lannisters were gaining ground by the day. Bruce was certain that he should've ignored the summons and rode off on his own to take care of things.

"Though, there have been some good news" said Galbart.

"Good?" said Bruce, giving him a curious look.

"Apparently the Laughing Prince, that outlaw who insulted King Robert at the Tourney of the Hand, is causing a bit trouble for the Lannisters in the Riverlands."

Bruce's eyebrows rose "Oh?"

"Indeed. There have been reports that he and a band of other outlaws have been raiding Lannister supply trains and even ambushed some of Tywin's forces. Not only that, but he has also garnered quite a following among the smallfolk."

Bruce blinked in surprise. The younger lord was genuinely surprised. The two have encountered each other on several occasions, in which they both got the measure of one another. From their last few encounters, Bruce knew that the man didn't give a damn about anyone, not even himself. The man finds death and misery funny and plays cruel, taunting pranks on his victims before ending their lives. A monster like that was usually like a lonesome wolf, or would at least attract souls that seem akin to him.

What was he getting at? Perhaps he was building an army of his own. But an army composed of frightened and ill-equipped peasants in the middle of a war? The Laughing Prince is certainly one who delights in bloodshed and chaos. But what was his end goal?

Bruce didn't know and he didn't like the sound of this. The thought of having to look over his shoulder for an ambush lying in wait or having to worry about Jason or Richard having to go up against him in battle made Bruce feel very uneasy.

The conversation lasted a little while longer then ended on a lighter note and the two nobles parted ways.

Bruce's brows furrowed and he began puzzling a way for him to go out and confront the Laughing Prince before things get worse.

* * *

A deep, dark night swallowed up all the remaining daylight from the sky and all seemed to be calm in the Red Keep. Cersei retired to her chambers with a nagging feeling of unease. Still fully dressed in her emerald gown, Cersei sat in a chair by the fire, nursing a cup of wine.

Although Eddard Stark was locked away in the black cells and Sansa Stark in the Red Keep, the queen regent still had a mountain of troubles.

Arya Stark is still lost and despite having the City Watch and her own Household guard searching for the girl, she has yet to be found. Although they maintain the illusion of having both Stark children but that fragile illusion could easily shatter if push came to shove.

With her brother ravaging the Riverlands and her father marching on Harrenhal, Cersei knew that Stark wasn't the only problem they had to deal with.

Stannis and Renly both recently laid claim to the throne and were marshaling their own forces to challenge them. Needing every sword they can get, Cersei paid the sellsword Slade a hefty sum of gold in order for him to remain in King's Landing and lend his assistance in searching for the Stark girl.

Despite accepting the gold, the large sellsword seemed resentful towards her, or at least someone within the Red Keep.

There was also the matter of Robert's bastards. Her oafish husband had laid with so many women and sired so many bastards that Cersei was almost uncertain as to how many there were. She was uncertain if Robert knew either. What fed into this uncertainty were the rumors that were whispered around the Red Keep and in the capital at large.

According to the whispers, the king had a secret lover.

Of course Robert had many lovers but this one was different. This woman seemed to have truly captured his heart.

According to Littlefinger, after one of the king's secretive visits to his brothel, the master of coin did notice that the king seemed unusually cheerful. He inquired of his girls at the brothel at that time to see what it was that cheered him up so. Surprisingly, the king didn't pay a visit that evening. He questioned them the best he could but they were all clueless as to who or what could be having such an effect on the king.

Cersei knew it was a woman. Considering the state of their marriage, Cersei could care less about who Robert laid with or had feelings for. However, hearing that Robert was so infatuated with some unknown peasant woman while supposedly being happily married to her, infuriated the queen regent.

Now that Robert was gone and Joffrey now inheriting the throne, Cersei wanted to be sure that there was nothing in the way of her son's birthright. She had tasked Varys to seek out this woman and to see if Robert sired any more bastards and to eliminate them. She also assigned one of her more trusted agents to the task for added measure.

It was only a matter of time until the identity of this woman and the location of Arya Stark were revealed.

* * *

A soft knock at her chamber door snapped Cersei out of her thoughts. "Enter" she called out.

A handsome man in rough spun clothes entered and Cersei felt her heart flutter. It was one of her agents and it would appear that he had good news.

"My queen" the man greeted with a bow. His voice was silky smooth and was like music to her ears. Despite the differences in social standing, the queen regent couldn't help but admire the man's features. Although he wore loose, dirty clothes, Cersei could make out his lean, muscular body. His hair was a muddy brown and his eyes were like obsidian.

"What did you find?" asked Cersei.

"I believe I found the woman," answered the man.

There was a brief pause, almost as if the man were waiting for her to ask or was making a dramatic pause.

Cersei snapped "And?"

"She is lowborn and lives down near the Street of Silk"

"Is she a whore?"

"No, she seems to be taking care of orphans and children without homes."

"Orphans?" Cersei repeated slowly.

"Yes, however there are two that she is greatly fond of, a boy and a girl."

Cersei frowned a little "What about these two?"

"I believe that they may be the king's own offspring" the spy replied.

"How so?"

"According to some people I spoke with, children are free to come and go at that place. Most simply have a meal and leave or spend only an evening in her home. However the two I mention, seem to live longer than the others and have been for a while. The two bear a rather strong resemblance to the woman and it is believed that these two are indeed her own flesh and blood, though she denies it. If it were true, no one knows who may be the father."

Cersei quirked an eyebrow.

The man smiled "I believe this part will interest you the most. These two children both have black hair and blue eyes."

Cersei's eyebrows shot up "That is certainly interesting. But how are you so certain that these are indeed the bastard offspring of my dear husband?"

"As I have stated before, no one knows who fathered those children and, apparently, she had a frequent visitor. An admirer, who gave her splendid gifts and visited those two children often."

Cersei's grip tightened on her cup of wine. It would seem that Robert truly did have a few other bastards hidden away and not only that; he was in contact with them, which was something he hardly did for any of his other offspring.

The queen regent allowed a smile to form on her face. Another obstacle was about to be removed from her path.

She rose to her feet and she poured some wine into another cup. Cersei offered it to her spy and he accepted it readily.

"Tell me more" said the queen regent, her voice like honey.

The spy, named Maxwell, sipped his wine and began weaving together a tapestry of words, forming a clearer picture of the woman whom Cersei was going to take great pleasure in destroying.

End of Chapter

* * *

 **(a/n: What do you think? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please Review. New DC characters appearing in this chapter: Billy Batson, Ratcatcher, Maxwell Lord, Tony Zucco and Harvey Dent. Until next time, see ya!)**


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